Taking Back What is Mine
by ValidEntry
Summary: Two Prompts for Faberry Week on Tumblr:  First Time and Gardenias.  How will Quinn react to Rachel's wedding day?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is for two prompts for Faberry Week on Tumblr. First Time and Gardenias. **

Quinn stepped inside the temple. The alcohol whirling through her bloodstream was providing her with false courage. But the vodka did little to quell the sudden thump, thump, thump of her heart as her eyes connected to the chuppah on display at the center of the bimah.

Her heart leapt forward again and bile roared dangerously in her stomach. The chuppah – under which Rachel Berry would shortly marry – was decorated with a seemingly uncountable number of gardenias. It was almost outlandish. It was certainly obscene.

Quinn backed out of the sanctuary and perched precariously against the wall. Bad idea, her brain screamed. Her body didn't listen. She slumped nearly to the floor. And she closed her eyes and remembered.

The first time Rachel fucked Quinn – and that was all it amounted to in the end: fucking – was up against one of the choir room walls after Glee practice. It was the spring of their senior year. They were kind of friends. But they were kind of circling around becoming more. The only thing holding Quinn back from pursuing Rachel was how withdrawn the brunette had become as graduation loomed. Quinn was fairly certain Rachel had already checked out of Lima. It was clear to Quinn, if to no one else, that Rachel would have no trouble saying goodbye to this town, this culture, her friends, Quinn.

Still, they flirted. They danced together at prom and Rachel let her hands linger on Quinn's ass. Rachel would unfasten just one more button on her shirt if she caught Quinn staring at her in class. They were building up to something. Quinn had a feeling it wouldn't be innocent and chaste. Or even romantic. There'd be no lingering, shy glances at a first date dinner. No holding hands in the dark of a movie theater. No bashfulness.

That day in the choir room proved her right. Rachel shoved her up against that wall, thrust her hand between Quinn's legs, and entered her with such intensity that Quinn nearly fell over. It was forcibly pleasurable. And she came so quickly it was if Rachel had willed it to happen at her beckoning.

And it stayed that way between them for the next couple of months.

Quinn ached for the romance. She wished for Rachel to stay in her bed and cuddle after sex. She longed to hear Rachel tell her secrets, future plans, soothing words. She wanted at least one gesture that this was more than, well, what Rachel said it was: fucking. Just fucking.

Quinn wanted Rachel to fall in love with her. So she wouldn't be alone with these dangerous feelings that bloomed inside her because of Rachel's very nearness.

But all Quinn got was the fucking…until she breathed out a desperate "I love you" one summer night as Rachel brought her to another mind-numbing climax.

Rachel stilled her fingers inside of Quinn and bent to whisper in her ear.

"Don't ever, ever say that to me again," Rachel hissed. And she scissored her fingers so harshly inside Quinn that her second orgasm in so many minutes felt more like a punishment than a release.

When Quinn's body relaxed back on the bed, Rachel jerked her fingers out of Quinn and moved away from her as if Quinn's body was on fire and Rachel was bound to catch a fever as a result.

Quinn reached for Rachel and pleaded for her to stay, to talk, to fucking feel something for her!

Rachel whirled around and snarled, "We really don't know anything about each other, despite having spent the past several years in school together."

And then Rachel laughed. It sounded more to Quinn like a strangled cry of frustration.

Rachel continued, "You say you love me. I mean, really, Quinn? Do you even know my favorite color? My favorite movie? Favorite flower? Anything?"

Quinn grabbed Rachel's hand and circled her fingers around and around Rachel's wrist. She could feel Rachel's pulse dancing just beneath her skin. She fought the urge to kiss Rachel to calmness.

"I have time to learn those things."

"No, Quinn, you don't. And I don't want you to know them. I'm leaving for New York soon. I don't want you to know these things about me and, frankly, I don't want to know them about you."

Quinn was suddenly angry. She was mad at Rachel for her nonchalance. And furious at herself for wanting anything from Rachel at all. She stood and hovered over Rachel, effectively blocking any move the other girl could make to leverage around the blonde.

"Well, you don't get to make all the rules here, Rachel! You are going to learn some things about me. So get comfortable. My favorite color is green. My favorite movie is, well, I don't actually have one. And my favorite fucking flower is the gardenia. I imagine a church full of them when I get married."

Quinn stopped talking and bent over to catch her breath. Her emotions were causing her an uncomfortable sort of mental whiplash. She knew she'd just given Rachel the upper hand again by shutting up. But her mind was foggy and the end was near anyway. The fight was seeping out of Quinn.

Rachel simply stood up and calmly pushed past Quinn. She dressed quickly and turned to look at Quinn before leaving.

"That's lovely information, Quinn. And I'm sure it will come in handy one day. For someone else to know."

Quinn watched as Rachel walked out of Quinn's room, silently closing the bedroom door behind her. It really was the best metaphor for an ending that Rachel Berry could have conjured for them. If they weren't fucking, they were locked together in silence. Until Rachel closed the door on even that option.

That was not the last time she'd seen Rachel, of course. But they kept their distance from the other. It was the last unspoken agreement between them. Rachel moved to New York shortly after graduation. And Quinn escaped across the country. Away from Rachel. Away from that moment she'd said I love you to a person who only wanted to fuck her without even getting to know her.

Now, she found herself walking towards a tent. Outside a temple. On the day of Rachel Berry's wedding. And there were gardenias in vases already on the tables. With green ribbons tied ostentatiously around the vases.

Quinn felt weak and disoriented. And her words – her past – flooded sickly through her mind yet again.

"My favorite color is green."

"My favorite fucking flower is the gardenia."

"I imagine a church full of them when I get married."

Replace temple with church and it was almost too much. No. Wait. It was too much.

There was no way Quinn could sit through this wedding now. She was on the verge of running out of the tent to her rental car and straight to the airport when a voice rooted her helplessly to the spot.

"I wasn't certain you'd show. Maybe you did mean it, after all, when you said you loved me."

Quinn felt a familiar surge of anger flare up inside her. Just like that last night with Rachel. It seemed only Rachel could bring out that ugly, reckless side of her. She glared at Rachel. Rachel smirked back.

In two steps Quinn wasn't entirely sure she should have taken, she pinned Rachel against the side of the tent with no thoughts interrupting her actions, no explanations tipping from her tongue, and no thinking of any consequences to trouble her conscience.

She thrust her fingers inside Rachel as if she'd last done so just yesterday. Rachel leaned into Quinn and both girls canted their hips forward in a rhythm that Quinn still sometimes mimicked in her dreams.

Rachel came with the words "I love you…I love you…I love you" pouring out of her mouth on a near silent loop next to Quinn's ear.

Quinn smiled against Rachel's neck. She gradually pushed herself off Rachel's trembling body. Rachel tried to hold on for a moment longer but Quinn stepped further back. With hands that, thankfully, barely shook, Quinn pried the gardenia from Rachel's upswept hair and pressed a kiss against the side of Rachel's mouth.

"This is my favorite flower, Rachel, not yours."

Rachel was silent. And so was Quinn. Instead of forcing Rachel into conversation, Quinn walked out of the tent to her rental car and straight to the airport.

She stuffed the gardenia in her suitcase before hastily making her way to the terminal.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Any messages Quinn receives are in bold. Thanks for reading. **

There were two voicemails and three texts on Quinn's phone when she landed in the city she never could consider home, despite having lived here for the past three years.

She'd had more than a reasonable amount to drink in the airport lounge before takeoff. Two more stiff (extra stiff) drinks on the flight back to LA. And there was nothing quite like a Valium to chase down the vodka and ease her further into a state of dreamy unawareness that she'd long ago grew to know as bliss.

The words of the texts blurred beneath her vision. She squinted harder and brought the phone closer to her face. She could probably play it off as early onset vision problems should her seatmate inquire. Not that she found that likely. The man had feebly attempted to hit on Quinn as soon as he sat down beside her before takeoff and she just flat out ignored him. Even when he asked her later in the flight if the overhead reading light would bother her. Maybe it was all those times Rachel gave her the silent treatment, Quinn had absorbed it so well that she'd turned it into part of her own repertoire.

The plane was stuck on the terminal – airports were the worst, Quinn felt as certain of this as anything else in her scattered life – so she'd have time to at least plow through her various messages. If she could keep her eyes from wanting to slam shut from the undercurrent of alcohol-induced vertigo swimming through her.

The first text was from Santana. Quinn rolled her eyes.

**I knew you'd pussy out and not show.**

Quinn checked the time on the text. Santana sent it roughly when Quinn was about half-way back to the airport.

The second text was also from Santana. Quinn frowned and blinked heavily in her increasingly difficult attempt at keeping her eyes focused.

**I just didn't think Rachel would pussy out, too.**

Quinn jerked in her seat and the man beside her put a steadying hand around her arm. She flinched away from him with a muffled "fuck off, asshole" whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

The man gave her a tight grin and said, "You look like you're not feeling so well. I was only…"

"You were only trying to get in my pants. Back…the…fuck…off."

Quinn turned again to her phone and read the third text. Also from Santana.

**This is the greatest non-wedding of a wedding EVER!**

Quinn hissed loudly through her teeth and her seatmate turned to her yet again.

"Don't even," she warned.

He rolled his eyes and went back to scrolling through his own phone.

Quinn quickly keyed in the code to her voicemail and suppressed a smile at the sound of Brittany's voice.

**Hey, Q, I know that Jewish weddings have, like, that moment when someone breaks a glass. But isn't it with their foot? And it's not a vase, is it? Because Rachel's throwing a lot of vases right now. With her hands. Is this some type of new tradition? **

There was a muffled clanging sound in the background and Quinn could barely make out Santana's stilted laughter. And then Brittany simply ended the call.

Quinn figured maybe her second voice mail was from Brittany or Santana, continuing the narrative of whatever type of breakdown that Rachel had seemingly had at her wedding. But the next message was just thirty seconds or so of silence. Quinn checked her missed calls list. The area code on the last call was from New York. So, not Brittany or Santana. Quinn leaned her head back against her seat and shut off all thoughts of gardenias, breaking glass, and New York area codes.

(Break)

Instead of going straight home, Quinn went to a bar. She drank her vodka straight and took a random girl back to her apartment.

Stumbling, kissing, and giggling with the girl whose name she'd already forgotten, Quinn glanced down at the stoop of her apartment. Her eyes caught sight of the biggest bouquet of pink roses she'd ever seen. The display was bold and flashy. The roses seemed to almost spill out of the vase.

"Oh, someone really, really likes you," the girl beside her whispered breathily in her ear before swiping her tongue down Quinn's neck.

Quinn swatted her away and unsteadily bent down to read the card affixed to the bouquet.

**Roses are my favorite flower. Cliché, I know, but the truth nonetheless. And pink is my favorite color. You could've probably guessed that, though. If you still care about any of this information…**

The card wasn't signed. The ellipsis was probably a better signature anyway. Rachel and her fucking metaphors.

Quinn lifted herself back up on wobbly legs and faced her drunken hook-up. She smiled lasciviously at the woman. Quinn unbuttoned her pants and leaned against the brick wall just outside her apartment door. It was dark. She was beyond drunk. She needed to get this over. She moved the woman forward and guided her fingers inside of her.

It was pleasing to Quinn that the woman easily responded to the thrust of Quinn's hips. Quinn conjured images of Rachel whispering I love you… and it was enough. From now on, it was always going to be enough. Before her orgasm even ended, Quinn shoved the girl away from her.

"Thanks for the fuck," Quinn mumbled before gathering up the flowers and unlocking her door.

"I can't wait for you to return the favor," the woman replied. She attempted to follow Quinn inside.

Quinn glanced behind her and arched her brow. "You're gonna be waiting a long, long time, sweetheart."

Quinn slammed the door on the woman's protests, deposited the flowers on her kitchen counter, and landed half-asleep on her couch without even bothering to try to make it to her bedroom.

(Break)

Quinn awoke to the feel of a body on top of her. She wanted to smile at the familiarity. The same scent, the same way the woman buried her face in the crook of Quinn's neck, the same soft whisper as her girlfriend gently beckoned her awake. But all she could do was clench her eyes shut and try not to recoil away.

"What time did you get home?" Quinn managed to choke out through the thick dryness that was currently clogging her mouth.

"About an hour ago. How was the wedding?"

Quinn deflected. "You first. How was your conference?"

Addie yawned and pushed herself back up to a sitting position. "It was the usual BS. But my presentation went well."

"I never doubted it would go any other way."

Addie yawned again and stretched. "Hmmm, is that why you bought me that humongous pile of roses?"

For a brief moment, Quinn felt like she might have a panic attack. She sat up and attempted to smile at her girlfriend. It seemed to be working because Addie had that look of total adoration on her face that she reserved only for Quinn.

Quinn shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and found what she was hoping was there. Rachel's note. She favored Addie with another smile and shrugged her shoulders.

"Who else would they be for?"

Addie pulled Quinn into a kiss but quickly pulled away and scrunched up her nose. "You reek, my dearest, go take a shower and then come back and tell me about that wedding."

Quinn chuckled but there was no real humor in her tone. But Addie would not notice. She never picked up on these clues. It made their relationship so easy for Quinn to skate through. Because that's what Quinn wanted. Someone she could fool into believing false words and empty sentiments. Addie was the perfect candidate.

(Break)

Once out of the shower, Addie snuck up behind Quinn and wrapped her arms around her.

"You're going to get soaking wet," Quinn laughed.

"That's what I'm hoping."

Quinn turned to face Addie. Her girlfriend winked at her before suddenly growing serious. She ran her fingers through Quinn's hair and the two locked eyes.

"I love you, you know," Addie said. She had that look of absolute trust and devotion on her face again.

"I know," Quinn replied.

And she led them both to their bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn thought this dinner might have to end in her downing a shot any time Santana or Brittany mentioned Rachel's name. It would make this whole thing much more comfortable for her. Less daunting. As it was, she was on her third drink and they were still regaling her with the story of Rachel's freak out at her wedding.

Santana was truly in her element. There was a hint of gleeful mischief in her eyes. Quinn zeroed in on Santana's mouth and tried to keep her attention on the conversation. Even if it was about Rachel. And even if it was bringing Santana a perverse kind of joy in the telling.

Santana plopped her fork down on her plate with a loud clatter and kept talking. "If I didn't think her groom-to-be was such an insufferable asshole, I'd have felt bad for the guy. She never even made it down the fucking aisle. From what Blaine told me, she got as far as the reception tent and then bolted. Slipped right out of her Dad's arm and next thing we knew – bam! – shit went down. I think she broke every vase there."

Brittany nodded her head in agreement. "Rachel looked scary. She…" Brittany abruptly stopped talking, unable to finish her thought. Quinn looked at her closely.

The blonde shrugged. "I don't know exactly how to describe it. She…scared me."

Santana took a sip of her martini and nudged Quinn on the knee. "And get this, her Dad actually called an ambulance. I always knew Rachel was totally unbalanced, but this was just un-fucking-real."

Quinn paused before taking another swig of her vodka tonic. "And did the ambulance actually show up?"

"Nope. I guess her Dad called them back or something. Some chick gave Rachel a bunch of pills – probably Valium or something – and she sort of conked out after about fifteen minutes."

Quinn sat down her glass. "She…uh…took a handful of pills? No one tried to stop her?"

Santana quirked an eyebrow up at Quinn. "Would you try to stop a raging Rachel Berry? One who was intent on destroying anything that her tiny, tiny hands could pick up and throw? No one was gonna tell that girl no."

"Probably right," Quinn agreed.

"I felt bad for her," Brittany said, a small frown etching her face. "I still feel bad for her."

Quinn waved the waiter over and ordered another drink. She glanced at Brittany. "Rachel will bounce back. I've never known anything to keep her down."

Santana eyed Quinn carefully and Quinn almost squirmed under her friend's gaze. It was too direct. Too piercing.

"What?" She finally demanded of Santana.

Santana made a show of picking at her food before slowly meeting Quinn's gaze. "You kept her down…for a while…in high school."

Quinn stared blankly at Santana. They'd not once talked about her relationship with Rachel. She wasn't even sure Santana knew about it. She and Rachel had never told anyone – by Rachel's request, obviously – but Quinn had often suspected Santana might have guessed at it anyway.

Quinn adopted a flippant tone and tried to keep her voice light. Almost airy. "We had a thing…for a bit…nothing major."

Santana smiled coyly at Quinn. "Yep. Nothing major. Just, you know, enough for Rachel to invite you to her wedding even though you haven't spoken to her in years. And enough for you to freak out so badly when you got the invitation that you shredded it two minutes after you got it. Whatever you had with Rachel must have been nothing…major…at…all."

Quinn despised it when Santana stretched out her words in order to better drive home her points. It was the verbal equivalent of a Santana Lopez bitch-slap to the face. Honestly, Quinn would've preferred the slap.

She slammed her drink on the table and narrowed her eyes at a still smirking Santana. "Why are you asking me about this now? All these years later?"

Santana leaned closer to Quinn and whispered, "I'm just curious as to why Addie asked me yesterday about Rachel's wedding. Said you just told her it was 'nice' and 'typical'."

Quinn felt her cheeks flush crimson. "Where did you see Addie?"

"Bumped into her at the coffee shop. But, seriously, did you think you could keep it from me that you lied to your girlfriend? She's under the impression that you attended Rachel's nice and typical wedding."

Quinn wanted to respond. But all the words lodged in her throat. She trained her gaze on Brittany as if the blonde could provide her with unspoken comfort.

In the most tentative voice possible, Brittany directed a question at her that she was in no hurry to answer, "Did you…uh…just hang out at home that weekend?"

Santana perked up. She looked for the entire world as if she actually hadn't considered Quinn's whereabouts during the weekend of Rachel's wedding. "Yeah, Q, did you mope around at home and cue up some Rachel Berry tracks on your i-Pod? Weep a little at the memories?"

Quinn stood up quickly and leveled both girls with a look she hoped conveyed the rage she now felt. "Actually, ladies, you just missed me at Rachel's goddamn wedding. I was there. I saw her. I fucked her. And I left her. I drove back to the airport. I flew home early. Apparently, she didn't take too well to that."

Brittany's eyebrows shot up so high that Quinn would've laughed if she wasn't close to vomiting. There was too much alcohol in her system. Not enough food. The three of them passed glances between them but no one spoke.

Santana finally broke the silence. "Oh sweet baby Jesus and all the angels who sing his praises, are you for fucking real right now? Because, I swear, Quinn Fabray, if you are lying to us…"

"Not lying, Santana Lopez, not even one little bit."

Brittany shuffled around in her seat. "So…you cheated on Addie? And…"

Santana put up her hand to stop Brittany. "I think the bigger point here is that Rachel flipped her shit at her…own…wedding because princess here came swooping back into her life…only to leave. I must say, Quinn, I'm overcome with feelings of envy. I've tried for years to get Rachel to crack."

"That's not funny, San!" Brittany chided.

Brittany looked back at Quinn with wounded eyes. "You cheated on Addie?"

Quinn geared up to grace Brittany with a blistering come back. But she couldn't find it in her to piss on her best friend in such a manner. She simply slumped back down in her chair and shrugged helplessly.

Brittany squirmed around in her seat again and stared down at the table before addressing Quinn. "Do you love Rachel?"

Now, that question stung. Hard. Quinn forced herself to smile at Brittany. Yet, unlike Addie, Brittany could read her emotions so very, very well.

Brittany sighed. "I think that means yes."

"I think we need more drinks" was Quinn's only reply.

(Break)

Quinn waved goodbye to Brittany and Santana. They'd insisted on walking her home. She was drunk, she supposed, but she was still too in control of her emotions to want to call it a night. She waited until the two girls disappeared around the corner before heading in the opposite direction.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She whirled around to see if, somehow, one or both of her friends had turned back and saw her. Seeing no one, she grabbed at her phone.

And saw a text. From a New York area code.

**When I was younger, my favorite city was LA, not NY. Funny, don't you think?**

Quinn didn't even find it remotely funny. She whipped around again as if expecting to see Rachel right behind her. She was met with an empty street corner. She quickly texted back.

**Is that your way of telling me you are in LA?**

She'd made it to a bar and ordered a vodka tonic before her phone alerted her to a new message.

**I'm nowhere you'd want to be.**

Quinn frowned. What the fuck did that mean? She took a long sip of her drink before sending Rachel a text in return.

**Where are you, then, Rachel?**

She was well, well past blitzed by the time she gave up on Rachel sending her a response. She sloppily motioned for the check when she felt a hand drag down her back. She turned to face a woman who looked vaguely familiar.

"Sure you don't want another round?"

And something managed to click inside Quinn's foggy mind. Oh, right! She'd had a random hook up with this woman – in this very bar – not two (or was it three?) weeks ago.

Quinn tipped her head to the side. "That's not actually a very good come-on line."

The woman smiled at her. "I have a feeling it's going to work anyway."

"I have a feeling you're right," Quinn said. And she followed the woman out into the night.

**AN: I wish I knew how I felt about this version of Quinn I'm creating. Maybe it's best I not dwell on it too much. Or I might just abandon her altogether. Just like RIB did with canon Quinn! Thanks for the reading/reviewing. **


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn sat her drink down on the table beside her and jumped a little when her phone let out with a particular, signature ring tone. The one she'd just a week before programmed in to her phone to alert her to any time Rachel might try to contact her. Quinn wasn't even certain Rachel would attempt to carry on this weird dance between them.

But, it now seemed she was still reaching out to Quinn. To what extent and to what end, Quinn wasn't certain. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was powerless to not answer this call.

Addie stirred on the couch and mumbled, "Awfully late for a call."

Quinn flipped Addie's legs from off her own and headed across the apartment. With an apologetic smile, she mouthed an "I'm sorry" at her girlfriend before closing the bedroom door.

Planting herself on the edge of the bed, Quinn whispered a quick hello into the phone.

She received no response. She could barely make out the sound of Rachel breathing. If not for that tell, she'd be convinced the line was dead.

"Rachel, say something to me," she hissed under her breath. Quinn's eyes traveled to the bedroom door. She expected Addie to come inquiring as to who was on the phone. After 1AM. And what could they possibly want?

Rachel kept to her silence but her breathing picked up slightly.

Quinn raked her fingers through her hair with an annoyed sigh. "Is this some type of sick joke to you?"

If so, Rachel wasn't saying. Quinn begged her fingers to push end on the call. Instead, she listened to the inhale and exhale of Rachel's breath on the other end of the line.

"Rachel, what the fuck is the point in this?" Quinn couldn't stop her voice from rising dangerously in frustration.

And then the pitch of Rachel's breathing changed, increased. Quinn sat up straighter and her eyes widened.

"Are you serious?"

Apparently, Rachel was very serious. She was nearly panting now.

Quinn glanced again at the door before lying fully on the bed. "Are you imagining it's me, Rachel, is that it? How many fingers are you using? Because I'd use three."

That elicited a small whimper from Rachel.

"Or do you wish it was my mouth instead? Or both?"

There was the slightest hitch that Quinn detected in the pattern of Rachel's breathing. Quinn knew it wouldn't take long now.

"You know, " Quinn's tone was conversational, as if she and Rachel were discussing the weather. "Sometimes, I only have to think of you. And it gets me off. Not what we've done together. Or what I'd like for us to do together. Just the idea of you."

Quinn practically sighed out those final words and seconds later she heard Rachel sigh in kind.

There was nearly pure silence after that before Rachel finally disconnected the call. Quinn couldn't prevent the smile that bloomed on her face.

She was in no hurry to leave the bedroom. She snuggled under the covers and rolled over on her side. Her phone buzzed and she lazily reached for it.

**That's always been a favorite fantasy of mine. And, anyway, people always complain that I talk too much. **

Quinn's mouth contorted into another ridiculous grin. She closed her eyes and laid the phone against her heart.

She was half-asleep when Addie joined her on the bed.

"Sorry, fell asleep on the couch," Addie murmured tiredly.

"Not a problem," Quinn replied absentmindedly.

"Who was it? On the phone?"

"Just Brittany. She couldn't sleep and she didn't want to wake Santana. She figured I'd still be awake."

The lies flowed from Quinn's lips as easily as the prayers she'd recited as a child. And Addie's belief in her was borderline religious, anyway.

Addie wrapped her arms around Quinn as Quinn tried hard not to wish her girlfriend was someone else.

(Break)

Brittany had the worst effect on Quinn. She was pretty certain it was because she judged Brittany as her moral compass. And Quinn was veering way, way off track.

She knew Brittany expected things of her. She assumed Quinn would stick up for her, as she'd done since they'd met in kindergarten. She presumed that Quinn would put up with Santana, however begrudgingly, because Brittany loved her. She anticipated that Quinn would take care of all the financial aspects of the dance studio they jointly owned. Quinn kept the business going and Brittany brought in the talent.

That's how Quinn had come to meet Addie. She was a dance instructor who was one of Brittany's first hires. Addie was also the first to resign. After she and Quinn were together, she deemed it unprofessional to date her "boss," even though Quinn protested that, technically, Brittany was her actual supervisor.

But Brittany had swooned over Addie's resignation, declaring it a "wonderful romantic gesture." Quinn just found it stupid.

There were a lot of things Quinn kept to herself in order to spare Brittany's feelings. Or, more to the point, to have Brittany look at her the way Quinn wanted her best friend to see her. That meant no talk of Quinn's countless drunken hook-ups. And that also included no mention of her past relationship with Rachel.

Because, really, how could she have explained it to Brittany when she didn't – still didn't! – understand it herself?

Rachel's behavior at her wedding and Quinn's admission to Santana and Brittany that she'd helped bring about Rachel's meltdown was what brought her and her best friend to this moment. The time when they were going to have to address the topic of Rachel. And discuss just how big of an asshole Quinn Fabray truly was, in spite of how Brittany had for years regarded her.

Brittany leaned her head against Quinn's shoulder. The two were sitting on Brittany and Santana's couch. They were supposed to be discussing business, but Quinn knew they weren't going to stay on that topic for long.

The fact that Brittany insisted on cuddling meant that she wanted to have a serious conversation, but she wasn't prepared to keep her eyes on Quinn's.

"I feel like an idiot. I should have known…back in high school. Santana suspected, but I never believed her."

"Don't call yourself an idiot," Quinn said, pulling Brittany closer to her. "We…I…didn't want anyone to know."

"But neither of you got over it." Brittany let her eyes catch Quinn's. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe nothing," Quinn shrugged.

Brittany sighed and laid her head in Quinn's lap. "I don't think I'm ready to talk to you about this yet."

"I understand."

"It's just…I mean…Addie, and all that. Not to mention what Rachel did at her wedding. And whatever this is doing to you. I can't decide exactly what it's doing to you."

"Right. Yeah, me either." Quinn stroked her fingers through Brittany's hair.

"I want you to be happy." Brittany's voice was choked, confused. "I'm torn here, Quinn, really torn."

Quinn willed herself not to cry. She'd feared this for years: Disappointing Brittany. Hurting her. Failing her.

Before Quinn could try to soothe her best friend, Brittany stood up as if she was suddenly on a mission of high importance.

"Wanna see a movie? There's a revival of Breakfast at Tiffany's playing at The Aladdin."

"Okay…" Quinn blinked up at Brittany in surprise. "You sure?"

Brittany smiled and Quinn knew she'd been granted a reprieve. Of sorts. She figured it wouldn't last, but she'd take it. There would be time to explain things to Brittany. A time when, maybe, Quinn would be able to provide her with the right answers. If any of them could be called right.

Brittany pulled her up and skipped them over to the door. "Buy me popcorn?"

"Always."

(Break)

After the movie, Quinn treated Brittany to dinner.

While Brittany was in the bathroom at the restaurant, Quinn's phone buzzed. The waiter approached her but she shooed him away before reading the text.

**I'm a fool for romance. You know that, right? Breakfast at Tiffany's is my favorite movie.**

Quinn came close to jumping out of her seat in hot pursuit of Brittany. She needed explanations. And she needed them right the fuck now.

But Brittany appeared beside her before she could even move.

"What's good to eat here?" Brittany asked. She showed no indication of anything being amiss.

Quinn stared hard at Brittany; she was trying to get her friend to break. But it wasn't happening for her.

It was Quinn who broke. "Brittany…" Quinn started out. She tried to keep her voice from wavering, faltering, hoping.

"Have you been talking to Rachel?"

**AN: To answer a question I received in a review (and a question I've asked myself): I don't know if I'm going to switch perspectives in this story to allow readers (and myself) to know what Rachel is feeling/thinking/doing. In my mind, despite her breakdown at her wedding, she is pretty stable in her life. She's doing okay. Unlike Quinn. And I'm still far from certain how I feel about Quinn. I think she's more sympathetic of a figure in this chapter. But if I keep going with this, her days of being an absolute asshole are far from over. I really thought I was done with writing about Faberry for a while. And I can't decide if I want this story to be as long as So Many Dreams on the Shelf. Or if, pardon the pun; I should shelf it before it gets me in over my head. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: You're a mean one, Quinn Fabray.**

It was taking Quinn a long time to calm down. The bartender placed a second drink in front of her and she ordered another one before he could even turn away. He frowned at her but nodded in the affirmative when she gave him her "I dare you to fucking back talk me" look.

Quinn wanted to forget this day faster than her mind was currently willing to cooperate. She dug around in her purse and located her pill box. She fumbled around in the contents, found two Valium, and downed the pills with a long sip of her vodka tonic. It was going to take a few minutes for the pills and the booze to deaden her feelings. Too much time for her to recollect that, in the past few hours, she'd managed to upend all the major relationships in her life.

(Break)

At dinner, Brittany had readily admitted that, yes, she'd spoken to Rachel. And, yes, she'd agreed to help her.

Quinn steadied her emotions as best she could muster before continuing her questioning of Brittany. "How did she even know that movie was playing here?"

Brittany appeared increasingly uncomfortable under Quinn's examination. "Don't know. Looked it up, maybe?"

Quinn counted to ten in her mind. "How, exactly, did she ask you for help?"

Brittany bit her lip and glanced quickly over at Quinn. "She just…um…wanted me to take you to the movie."

Quinn closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds. "Why did you call her, Brittany?"

Brittany shifted her weight back and forth. "Well, I already told you I'm worried about her. And…I kind of wanted her take on things. Things with you, I mean. Like, how she felt about you."

Quinn cocked her eyebrow up at Brittany. "And, pray tell, how does the magnificent Rachel Berry feel about me?"

Brittany flinched. "She really wouldn't say. I didn't outright ask her, you know. Just hinted."

Quinn leaned over and firmly grabbed Brittany by her shirt collar. Brittany gasped but didn't try to pull away. Quinn pressed her mouth against Brittany's ear and growled, "Don't let me catch you helping her ever again. Is that clear, Brittany?"

She felt Brittany nod against her cheek. Quinn pivoted away from Brittany and rummaged in her purse for cash. She threw down a wad of money – she was going to be leaving a god-awful large tip – and narrowed her gaze at Brittany. Brittany was red-faced and actively avoiding Quinn's glare.

"Take a cab home, Brittany. And leave this thing with Rachel alone."

Quinn left the restaurant and knew for certain that Brittany wouldn't dream of trying to follow her.

(Break)

Walking aimlessly after effectively abandoning Brittany, Quinn's phone rang and she answered it without even checking to note who was calling.

Addie's cheerful voice grated in her ear. "Hey you. Was wondering if I could take you out on a date tonight. We haven't done anything like that in a while and…"

Quinn brusquely cut her off. "I'm in no fucking mood to go out on a goddamn date, Addie. We've been together for over a year. We don't _need _to date anymore."

Addie was silent. Quinn could imagine her girlfriend sitting in their shared apartment, her mouth hung agape in disbelief. That picture alone set Quinn's nerves on edge.

Quinn continued, "Jesus, now the silent treatment from you? When you find your voice, we can try this conversation again."

Quinn hung up on her girlfriend and promptly dialed Rachel's number.

Rachel answered after the fifth ring. Quinn barely gave her a chance to say hello.

"Don't you dare drag Brittany into this…this…whatever it is between us, Rachel."

Rachel sighed dramatically – God, how that noise still plagued and haunted Quinn. It was the sound of her senior year all over again.

"Someone is in a nice and cheerful mood this evening."

Quinn gritted her teeth. "Don't test me."

Rachel's voice remained calm. "I'm doing nothing of the sort. You're being irrational for reasons I cannot currently fathom."

"For reasons you cannot currently fathom? My God, you're clearly playing stupid right now, Rachel Berry. Whatever schemes you want to throw my way should stay between you and me. That equates to you not speaking to Brittany about us."

"I assume that means me also leaving your girlfriend out of this as well?"

Quinn stopped walking. She leaned against a store front and lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. "You think you are so precious, don't you?"

There was only the briefest of pauses before Rachel answered. "Maybe. Maybe not. I think you find me precious. You're just a little bit too keyed up right now."

Quinn balked. Rachel's peculiar ability to rile her up was astounding, unnerving.

And Quinn suddenly wanted no part of it. "You're so annoyingly sanctimonious and I really…"

Rachel interrupted her. "I'm just going to stop you there, Quinn, before you allow that particular train of thought to continue."

Quinn took a deep breath and prepared to lash out at Rachel in ways that the girl would never come short of forgetting. But Rachel had already dropped the call. Quinn would just have to deal with that little gem of a conversation-ender at some later point. When her mind wasn't so cluttered with "what-ifs" and "you must be fucking kidding me" thoughts.

(Break)

Quinn ducked into a dive bar across from her apartment. She ignored two calls from Addie. She aimlessly surfed the net on her phone. The music in the bar grew louder as the lights dimmed. Couples danced. Quinn watched. Her fifth drink mixed blissfully with the Valium, causing a delightful dullness to invade her system. She believed that she could almost float above everything that surrounded her. If she just focused hard enough on letting go.

She decided to call Brittany. Make amends. Do some damage control.

Brittany's hello was tentative, almost wary.

"Hey, Brittany," Quinn shouted over the thud of the music. "Hear that?"

Brittany sounded so very far away. "Hear what, Q? Music?"

"Yeah, B, music! Come out and dance with me!"

"I…uh…don't think that's such a good idea."

"Oh, don't fuck me over! Come out and dance with me!"

"But Santana…"

"Santana is studying, I bet. Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yeah…she is…but…"

"Let me buy you a drink, Britt-Britt. I'm sorry about earlier. Get…here…and…dance…with…me!"

Quinn was practically screaming now.

Brittany's voice seemed to come from a thousand miles from where Quinn now sat. "All right. Tell me where to meet you."

Quinn gave her the directions and signaled for another drink.

(Break)

Quinn loved to watch Brittany dance. The fluid movement of Brittany's body in motion always left Quinn dazzled. She shifted closer to her best friend and wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist. It was overwhelmingly hot in the bar. And Quinn's pulse was pounding so loudly in her ears that it almost drowned out the music. She laughed for no real reason and inched her fingers along the length of Brittany's back.

Quinn pulled Brittany tightly to her. A near crushing surge of dizziness washed over Quinn. She laughed again and kissed Brittany lightly on the cheek.

Brittany smiled tightly and tried to leverage her body away from Quinn.

Quinn faux-pouted and jerked Brittany even closer.

"I've never told you this," Quinn yelled directly into Brittany's ear, "But you are especially attractive when you're dancing."

Quinn allowed her hands to cup Brittany's ass. Brittany squealed in surprise and attempted to jump out of Quinn's grasp. Quinn didn't let go. Instead, she brought her lips to Brittany's and forced her tongue inside Brittany's mouth.

She sensed Brittany's struggle to escape and could hear the girl's muffled protests. Quinn laughed against Brittany's mouth before decisively grabbing Brittany by her hair and leaning forward to kiss her again.

**AN2: Mercy, I just made her an even bigger asshole, didn't I? I'm a-gonna hang with this story, mostly because of the positive feedback I'm getting. But I'm back to just absolutely loathing Quinn. To answer a couple of questions: I plan on resolving the story, but that doesn't mean that it leads to a solution for Quinn. Or anyone else. And, nope, there will be no "And then Rachel showed up on Quinn's doorstep with a puppy and won Quinn over…they moved in together…had some Fababies…and never, ever argued again" type of ending. I'm curious to know: Do you even think I can redeem Quinn at this point? **


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: For the purposes of this story, Baby!Gate never happened. My sincerest apologies to Beth. This chapter jumps back and forth in time because we are now firmly entrenched in the mind of a drunk and high Quinn Fabray. **

Brittany didn't so much shove Quinn off her as Quinn broke the kiss and slumped awkwardly to the ground. The whole world seemed set on fast forward. The only way she could shake that sensation was to lie down, even if she was still in public. Any place would do. She needed rid of this dizziness that was eating at her, tormenting her.

She could just make out Brittany's voice and a crowd of people descending upon her. She feverishly thought that other patrons in the bar might be trying to dance with her. Or Brittany. Maybe they considered her dive to the floor some type of new dance craze that only she could teach them. Quinn laughed again as her head clanked against the floor. She splayed her entire body out and blinked her eyes in time to the swirling of the lights above her.

I mean, why was Brittany talking to Rachel? Brittany was _hers_. Rachel had already taken enough from Quinn. Sure, Brittany loved romantic gestures, hence her willingness to accept Addie's resignation so that Addie could date Quinn "in the right way." It was really only because Brittany absolutely adored Addie that Quinn had for this long tried to make it work with her girlfriend.

But Brittany now knew a large portion of Quinn's flaws: Quinn was a liar, a cheat, a fucking drunk. Why not take it that one step too far and show Brittany just how messed up Quinn could get?

Movement to her left caught Quinn's attention. A pair of cowboy boots appeared right by her face. "I hate that style," Quinn mumbled to no one in particular.

And, in the sickest part of her mind where she rarely ventured, that kiss was also a type of punishment. She didn't deserve Brittany's friendship. Hadn't in years. Maybe ever. The fact that Brittany was so eager and willing to help Rachel was more than Quinn could stand. Even though Brittany was aware of how easy it was for Quinn to fuck other people over…the girl still thought Quinn deserved happiness! That was too damn intense for Quinn.

The song changed. The beat slowed. Quinn wondered if the guy in the cowboy boots was asking Brittany to dance. Her immobile friend on the floor be damned.

Brittany compromised her own morals in the process of agreeing to Rachel's plan…whatever Rachel's plan constituted. Brittany liked Addie. Yet helping Rachel was, as a result, only going to cause Addie pain. Her best friend probably hadn't thought the consequences out at this point. She was focused more on Quinn's well-being and the perpetual allure of the grand romantic gesture. Brittany must have suspected (probably incorrectly) that there was some type of romance inherent in Rachel's intentions. But Brittany would figure it out: To help Rachel was to hurt Addie. Quinn genuinely doubted that Brittany would be okay with herself when those realizations came to fruition.

Quinn seriously considered asking Cowboy Boots to bring her some water. Would he answer to Cowboy Boots? She snorted with laughter at her own miserable attempt at humor.

Kissing Brittany was the quickest road Quinn could take to getting herself out of Brittany's good graces. The only person Brittany loved more than Quinn was Santana. Brittany would regard this kiss as tantamount to cheating. Granted, if Quinn's mind hadn't been so addled with drink and drugs, the kiss would never have happened. She would not have been able to work up the nerve. But, in this way, she was certain she'd made Brittany feel – however misguidedly – that she'd failed Santana. Brittany might even convince herself that she'd, somehow, led Quinn on with her dancing. And Quinn would let Brittany believe all of those things and so much fucking more.

Cowboy Boots disappeared and Quinn stomped her feet on the floor. Once. Twice. He didn't even offer her any water! Asshole!

The kiss, the kiss was easier than keeping her distance from Brittany – which would have been difficult since they owned a business together, but not impossible – or bitching at the girl until she caused Brittany to shy away. No, the kiss, the kiss was better – therefore worse – than any other method Quinn could conjure to keep Brittany from the disaster that was Quinn Fabray.

Quinn was simply not a good person. And Brittany was the best person she'd ever met. She needed Brittany to let go on her. Forcing her into that kiss was a cheap and immoral way to speed up the demise of their friendship. And, honestly, Quinn couldn't keep letting Brittany down. She also didn't want Brittany to continuously put herself out there for Quinn. It was all too exhausting.

Because Quinn was simply not a good person. And Brittany was the best person she'd ever met.

(Break)

Brittany bent closer to her, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. There was a look of pure worry imprinted on Brittany's entire face. Quinn slowly reached up to touch the necklace Brittany was wearing. She idly twirled the diamond charm and used her other hand to shakily cup Brittany's jaw.

"No tears here, Brittany." Quinn narrowed her eyes and dropped her hand from Brittany's cheek. Wetness stained her fingers. She wanted to apologize to Brittany for making her cry, for forcing her into a kiss that neither of them actually wanted, for now having their situations reversed: Brittany was going to have to take care of Quinn tonight.

But Quinn would never say those words.

Brittany was trying to talk to her. The music in the bar was so, so moronically loud. Quinn kept one hand locked on the necklace around Brittany's slender neck. Brittany leaned down further and lifted Quinn's body enough to cradle her. Quinn still couldn't make out a damn word Brittany was saying.

It was exquisitely weird to not be able to decipher even one syllable falling out of Brittany's mouth. Not letting go of Brittany's necklace, Quinn burst into song:

"**You've been falling off the sidewalk.  
>Your lips move but you can't talk.<br>Tryin' to throw your arms around the world."**

She giggled at the end of the verse. She twirled the diamond on Brittany's necklace a final time before dropping her hand to her own waist. "Always have liked that necklace," Quinn stated matter-of-factly.

Right before she drifted, drifted, drifted into nothing.

(Break)

It was Quinn and Rachel's one month anniversary. Quinn was embarrassingly mindful of the terms of her arrangement with Rachel: Fucking. Just fucking. Still, getting Rachel a present couldn't be all bad. She'd practiced various lines she could spring on Rachel should the girl try to reject the gift.

"Consider it an early graduation present." They'd never talked of exchanging graduation gifts, but Rachel might buy into that particular explanation.

"You can look at it and know that you scored with one of the hottest girls in school." That one was painfully lame, Quinn knew, but it might appeal to Rachel's vanity.

"My parents are rich; they don't even know I spent that much money." Rachel was aware enough of Quinn's distant relationship with her parents to, maybe, accept the gift as a means of helping Quinn with a subtle act of rebellion.

Walking into school that morning, Quinn nervously twirled her fingers around the jewelry box in her pocket. She heard the lovely timbre of Rachel's laughter and it made her smile unconsciously. She really loved that sound. Rarely did Rachel seem as free and relaxed as when she was laughing.

Rounding the corner to Rachel's locker, she saw Rachel and Finn clinging to each other in an awkward, haphazard manner. Quinn leaned against Santana's locker, across the hall from Rachel's, and just watched.

The night before, Rachel had made an off-handed comment about how she much preferred Quinn's fingers to Finn's dick. Quinn had shuddered involuntarily at Rachel's words and was thankful for the darkness. And for the fact that her back was turned from Rachel, who was already getting dressed and preparing to leave.

Quinn had never dared to ask Rachel if she had been the one to take Rachel's virginity. She thought it might have been the case. Or perhaps not. Quinn didn't enjoy dwelling on the issue. Rachel never talked much about sex, despite the fact that she and Quinn were having a hell of a lot of it.

And Quinn kept quiet as opposed to asking Rachel for details of her past sexual history. Not a smart move, she supposed. But ignorance was bliss and all that. She'd never even used her fingers the first time she brought Rachel to orgasm. She'd made the attempt, but Rachel had pushed her head between her legs as if the world were going to end if Quinn didn't hurry the fuck up.

Quinn's only protest had been a hastily muttered plea: "Let's slow down. I…"

She wanted to tell Rachel that she needed time. To quiet her nerves. To explore Rachel's body. To map it and memorize it.

Quinn left those words hanging in her mind as Rachel bucked her hips upward towards Quinn's mouth. The only sound in the room was that of Rachel's impatient groan of exasperation as she threaded her fingers through Quinn's hair and pushed the girl further down.

Rachel was clearly demanding oral and Quinn wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, pardon the pun. Still, she would've considered that enough to have taken Rachel's virginity. If Finn and his apparently inadequate dick hadn't gotten inside Rachel first.

Now, a night shy of it being a month since Rachel had pinned Quinn against the choir room wall, she watched Rachel slide on her shoes and straighten her skirt. Quinn leaned back against her headboard and shut her eyes. She'd be thinking about Rachel's flippant remark all night, and she'd never be able to consider it a compliment. Even though she was convinced that's how Rachel wanted her to take it.

She'd fixate instead on the fact that Finn Hudson had slept with Rachel. Finn fucking Hudson. Quinn had the abrupt, nauseating thought that it was borderline possible that Finn wasn't even Rachel's first. Had she slept with Puck, too? Jesse? Was she still…? Quinn blanched against answering that question.

Quinn propped herself up on her elbows and observed Rachel as she stuffed a hair brush back in her bag. Rachel was seconds from performing her "thanks for the sex" ritual: She always blew Quinn a kiss from across the room, and it didn't matter if she was the one walking out the door or if it was Quinn. It not once failed to upset Quinn that Rachel never actually, physically kissed her goodbye. When the sex was over, so went any chance at intimacy.

Quinn sat up straighter and asked her question to Rachel's back. Rachel already had her hand on the door knob when Quinn whispered over to her: "Are you still sleeping with Finn?"

The words came out small and ugly. Rachel turned to face her and Quinn dropped her eyes. In a rare show of affection Rachel walked back over to Quinn and enveloped her in a hug. They stayed that way for a moment before Rachel tilted Quinn's chin forward so that their eyes met.

"I'm only sleeping with you, Quinn. But I have to go now, okay? My fathers are going to worry if I stay here any longer."

Quinn only nodded. She rolled over and faced the window so that she could see Rachel drive away. For not the first time, Quinn wondered if Rachel knew she'd been the one to take her virginity. Quickly. Standing up. In a choir room that smelled of sweat and faded sheet music. In public (more or less). During the middle of the day.

She suspected Rachel probably wasn't conscious of the truth. That day in the choir room, Rachel had meticulously, slowly wiped her fingers on Quinn's thigh before leaving her sagging limply against the wall. When Quinn had arrived home that day, she went straight to the bathroom and noticed a smear of dulled crimson on her thigh in the same area where Rachel had spread Quinn's come on her own body. And there were darker dots of blood – not many, but enough to notice – in her panties.

The headlights of Rachel's car disappeared past Quinn's house, forcing Quinn away from her memories. She'd just have to trust Rachel: She was only having sex with Quinn. She shut her eyes and failed to keep images of Rachel losing her virginity out of her thoughts.

Yet, however Rachel and her virginity had parted company, Quinn was reasonably certain that it hadn't happened against the wall of a choir room.

(Break)

Bubble gum popped near Quinn's ear and she tore her eyes from the spectacle that was Rachel and Finn – had Rachel lied to her? Could she and Finn still be having sex? – and concentrated on Santana. Quinn scooted out of Santana's way when the other girl bumped her with her hip.

"Fabray, I know you are directionally challenged – I've seen you lead a cheer routine – but this is my locker, sweetie. Yours is around the corner." Santana motioned to her left before undoing the combination on her locker.

Chancing a quick glance over at Rachel and Finn, she saw them moving down the hall. They were no longer touching, but they still seemed very much together. Rachel looked back over her shoulder and winked at Quinn.

Quinn turned to Santana without acknowledging Rachel's gesture. Santana was busy pulling notes out of her book bag.

Quinn hesitated…hesitated…and then hurriedly placed a jewelry box inside Santana's locker. Until that moment, Quinn had never had the pleasure of seeing Santana Lopez so totally and utterly dumbfounded.

Santana dropped her book bag on her own feet as she whirled around to face Quinn. "You did not just seriously buy me jewelry, Q. Are you…are you coming on to me?" Santana appeared horrified.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Let's try to stay focused on reality. I'm so far above you, I'd have to crash land to even consider you a viable dating option. And, anyway, I'd never hit on Brittany's girlfriend. "

Santana opened the box and her eyes ever so slightly widened in what Quinn could only hope was appreciation. Santana whistled lowly. "Jeez, how much did this set your mommy and daddy back?"

Quinn shrugged. "A bit. I want you to give the necklace to Brittany. As a graduation present."

Santana thrust the box in Quinn's hand. "No way. Nuh-uh. She'll know I can't afford something like that. And, anyway, why are _you_ doing this for _me_?" Santana eyed Quinn carefully.

Quinn sighed. "Tell Brittany you've been saving up. She'll think it's romantic. And I'm not really doing this for you. This is for Brittany."

Santana raised her eyebrow at Quinn, but she wouldn't take the box that Quinn held out to her. "Give it to Brittany yourself."

Quinn couldn't contain the barely veiled hysterical laughter that bubbled up in her throat. "Just, please, Santana. It'll mean more coming from you." She placed the box firmly in Santana's hand, wrapped the girl's fingers around it, squeezed, and sprinted down the hallway before Santana could detain her.

"Quinn…Quinn…Quinn!"

She stopped in the middle of McKinley High School. She felt a headache forming at her temples.

"Quinn…Quinn!"

Santana hadn't shouted after her that day. Right? She'd given the necklace to Brittany on the night of graduation.

"Quinn!"

She and Quinn had never spoken of it again. She was certain Santana hadn't called her back that day in school. Right?

"Quinn…"

(Break)

"…Quinn!"

She pried her eyes open and saw a blurry version of Santana Lopez hovering over her. Her head hurt so horrifically that she fought against closing her eyes.

Clearing her vision was proving a bitch. She sat up gingerly and noted that she was lying on the couch in the living room of Brittany and Santana's apartment.

Mustering levels of energy she wasn't sure she possessed, Quinn focused on Santana. It was a bad sign that she couldn't read the look on her friend's face.

Santana was quick to clarify it for her. "So glad you could finally join us from out of the Land of Nod, Quinn. Now, you have exactly ten minutes to kindly get the fuck out of this apartment."

Quinn winced. "Santana…"

Santana cut her off. "Ten minutes. Or, so help me God, I will beat the everlasting shit out of you. You can't even begin to understand what you put Brittany through last night. Hell, not even just last night."

Quinn reached for Santana. The girl pulled away with visibly trembling hands held up in a defensive posture.

Suddenly, Santana leaned down and placed her face close to Quinn's. It would've been an oddly intimate pose if not for the next words she heard from Santana.

"And, as your parting gift, let me cue you in on some very important knowledge. I'm buying out Brittany's half of the studio. Then I'm gonna sell it to whichever sleazebag can offer me the most money for it. As for you, Quinn Fabray? Don't you _ever_ try to contact Brittany again. Keep your drunken, whoring ass away from my girlfriend."

Santana spun around and left Quinn, unwelcomed, in a room that was not her own. She'd lost Brittany and she couldn't help but sink backwards on the couch. She allowed herself to bask in the relief that immediately coursed through her body. She'd lost Brittany and it felt oddly…good.

**AN2: The lyrics that Quinn "sings" in the bar are from Tryin' to Throw Your Arms Around the World by U2. **

**Now to address reviews: Let me start by stating that I appreciate all the feedback/constructive criticism. There are only a few points I want to make here and I hope not to come off as too, too long-winded. Please, if you feel so inclined, keep the reviews coming. They are, quite honestly, providing me with the drive to keep writing. **

**To answer a question: I did not have Quinn kiss Brittany just for the shock value. I hope this chapter demonstrates her reasoning. She is destructive and self-loathing. Aside from that, I've never written anything just for the GASP appeal. I have to have a larger reason – a point, if you will – to include any plot detail.**

**I also do not find that I went too far re: Quinn's actions in the last chapter. I'm trying to demonstrate that Quinn is slipping out of control. And that can make a person act really, really stupid. She doesn't trust Rachel. She's struggling with the fact that she still has feelings for Rachel. She is not thinking: She is reacting. She's not one (at least not at this point in the story) to care about the consequences. In many ways, she's acting like this because she wants to be a bitch. She thinks it's working for her. She relishes in being able to push things too far, too fast.**

**The only relationship she's used to having with Rachel is a sexual one, hence how calm she remained during their one-sided phone sex exchange. In any other context, Quinn loses it when it comes to Rachel. And a Quinn Fabray out of control will lash out. And lash out hard.**

**Yeah…so…this AN did get a little (more than) long. Sigh. This was my fear when I kept this story going: Could I adequately portray Quinn's breakdown while at the same time allowing her to be the narrator of the story?**

**Questions for those who care to review: How do you feel about the tone/flow of the story? Does my depiction of Quinn seem "real" to you? If not, what would you have me change?**

**Sigh again. This version of Quinn is a bitch to write. **


	7. Chapter 7

It was much too quiet in Santana and Brittany's apartment. Quinn moved toward the end of the couch, barely fighting off the sensation that she was drowning by way of nothing but air, and listened. No hushed whispers made their way to her. No muffled crying. No creak of the floor under the weight of feet.

That probably meant that Brittany wasn't home. And Santana had locked herself in the master bathroom and was at this moment staring at her watch. Restlessly counting out Quinn's ten minutes; itching for a fight. In the only scenario that truly worked for Quinn, Brittany was right now pretending to eat a bagel at the coffee shop around the corner. Smearing the bread between her fingers and erratically taking sips of a coffee she didn't even like. Brittany was unable to confront Quinn herself or bear witness to Santana effectively ending the most vital, consistent relationship in Quinn's life.

How many times had it been Quinn who stood in Santana's place? Demanding that so and so – the names were interchangeable, the circumstances varied – treat Brittany with respect. That Brittany was far from stupid. And just because she might not know such and such – pick your fact, specify your equation – meant absolutely nothing. Quinn believed that Brittany existed on an entirely different plane of intelligence than anyone she'd ever met. Brittany was an astute observer of emotion, motives, the foundations of a person's heart.

It was especially difficult for Brittany to provoke any encounter that would inevitably lead to the disparaging of her character. Those were wars fought and largely won by Quinn or Santana on Brittany's behalf. Brittany didn't need any reminders that there were people in this world who thought so little of her. And she could never, ever manage to say to anyone: "You're acting like an asshole. You're not being nice."

But that's what Quinn had accomplished the night before: Acted like an asshole. Made Brittany uncomfortable. She'd duped Brittany into meeting up with her. Wouldn't let Brittany cut her off at the bar. Pouted until Brittany danced with her. Kissed her when she knew Brittany had little means of escape. All in all, she'd conned her, which was really just Quinn's oh-so-special way of making Brittany feel…stupid.

Rising from the couch on legs that were less wobbly than Quinn would've suspected, she hightailed it to the door. No sense in having another one-on-one with Santana. That little meet and greet would likely end in a slap. Or – she couldn't rule it out on Santana's end – a punch.

Quinn paused in the kitchen, snatched up the bottle of prescription muscle relaxants Santana kept on stand-by for her infrequent migraines, dry-swallowed three of them, and debated putting the pills back down on the counter. She pocketed the bottle instead.

Fuck Santana Lopez and her holier-than-thou attitude. Fuck her and her tidy, well-kept life. Fuck her and her confidence, her swagger. Fuck Santana Lopez and her ability to not only get the girl…but to keep her.

(Break)

Quinn woke up to her cab driver's insistent demand that she hurry up and pay her fare. It took her some quick mental jogging backwards to recognize that she'd fallen asleep. And now she was staring at her apartment building. The driver made a "come on, come on" gesture with his hands and Quinn finally snapped fully back to consciousness.

The man calmed down considerably at the size of the tip Quinn left him. And Quinn was momentarily thankful. Here, here at least was one less person to yell at her. And she was going to hold onto that small victory. Because now, now she would have to ready herself for Addie.

Addie, who Quinn was certain waited for her in their apartment. Addie, who had skipped out on her morning classes in the hope of seeing her, of making sure that Quinn was okay. Addie, who quit her job just to date her. Addie, who now looked over at Quinn with eyes that clearly showed her relief, fear, confusion.

Quinn sat down across from Addie at the kitchen table. She idly drew figure eights on the sides of her jeans. She wanted Addie to force this conversation. Until then, she was comfortable with the silence.

When Addie spoke, her voice sounded smaller than anything Quinn had ever heard. "I don't want you to break up with me."

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek and cocked her head to the side. "How do you know that's what I'm planning?"

"Something is…off about you lately." Addie reached for Quinn's hand, but Quinn denied her. "See, why can't I just hold your hand?"

This was shaping up as a Band-Aid situation for Quinn. Better to rip it off than allow the whole thing to linger, fester.

Quinn shoved her hands in her pockets, reassured herself that she hadn't lost the muscle relaxants, and narrowed her gaze at Addie. "I don't want to hold your hand, Addie, because, you're right, I don't want to be in this relationship any longer."

Addie seemed to curl in on herself. "Whatever I'm doing wrong, I'll fix it."

Quinn laughed abruptly. "I feel like we're taping an episode of Dr. Phil, but I just haven't spotted the cameras yet." Quinn couldn't contain her amusement.

Addie looked torn between frustration and disbelief.

Quinn sobered up enough to continue, "This isn't just something that needs fixed, Addie. It's something that needs to end."

Addie stood and made her way to Quinn. She bent lower and wrapped her arms around Quinn's shoulders. "I think… I think that before you make that decision…we should…we should consider counseling."

More forcefully than was necessary, Quinn put her hands on Addie's hips and guided her back to her chair. She hovered over Addie. "I'm not about to spend any amount of money on a relationship that is not working and never really did."

Addie couldn't hide her shock. Quinn wasn't even sure the girl was trying. "We've been happy before. Only recently have you…"

Quinn put her hand over Addie's mouth. "I've never been happy with you. Only relieved. Because things were so, so uncomplicated with you." Quinn removed her hand and stepped away from Addie. "I didn't have to worry that I'd fall in love. Or that you'd smother me with your very presence. You going back to school and being away from the city so often at conferences has been – and I'm not exaggerating, Addie – an incredibly good thing for me."

She paused long enough to ascertain – just one more time, just that one more time – that the pills were still in her pocket. Addie said nothing and Quinn took that as an opportunity to keep talking. "I wish I'd never let you move in with me. I'll admit that, really, that was my fault. You couldn't have known I was planning for this very reality for quite some time. I mean, honestly, I've been looking forward to ending this relationship since, well, we started dating, actually. I'm glad this is over. I'm happy you'll be moving out."

Realization bloomed dark and unpleasant on Addie's face. Not only was her relationship over, so, too, was her current living situation.

Anticipating Addie's next set of questions, Quinn headed her off. "I'm going out of town. Pay my annual 'I'm a good daughter' visit to my parents. I'll be gone about a week. When I get back, you'll be gone. Simple as that."

Addie's voice trembled but held firm. "Simple as that, Quinn? You end a long-term, live-in relationship with a cheap line?"

"Yep. Simple…as…that." Quinn was aware that she was resorting to Santana's habit of over-enunciating her words for maximum value. And while her mind was on Santana, Quinn popped the cap on the pill bottle, jabbed for one, and popped it in her mouth.

Addie frowned over at her. "What are you taking?"

"Tylenol. For the headache that this conversation is causing me." Quinn wiped at her eyes. Her vision was a little blurry around the edges. There was a faint squiggle outlining the shapes of things around her. Quinn forced herself to concentrate…concentrate…concentrate.

This was almost over. Concentrate…

Quinn took a cautious step to the bedroom. Glancing back at Addie, she had to concentrate…concentrate…

Her balance was a tiny, tiny step off. She bumped her foot against the coffee table and hissed at her mistake.

She locked eyes with Addie. "I'm going to take a nap and then catch a flight. You should go to class."

Addie's mouth opened, closed, opened. Quinn blinked until there was only one of Addie again.

Concentrate…concentrate…

Addie was moving toward Quinn. Jesus, what was it going to take with this girl?

Quinn didn't wait for Addie to reach her. She grabbed Addie by her wrists and shuffled her toward the door. "Get out…let me take a fucking nap…Come back later…I'll be gone…pack your shit…get out!"

Addie was a mute puppet in her hands. Quinn pushed her (gently, she hoped but didn't really care) out the door.

Quinn was able to slide clumsily down to the foyer before her concentration ran out on her.

(Break)

She met a woman in the airport. Flying to somewhere Quinn had already forgotten to file away in her mind. Layover, like Quinn, in Cleveland. Quinn bought her a drink. The woman returned the gesture. Quinn reached into her bag for a Valium. She always took one before flying. She took two. As compensation, she asked for less vodka in her third drink.

Convincing the woman to blow off her connecting flight – there'd be others, obviously, practically every hour - and drive to Lima with her was Quinn's brilliant plan of the day. Anyway, she was far too out of it to drive. Fuck, she was probably in no condition to even be a passenger in the car at this point.

They got a hotel room together. Quinn paid in cash. She had no idea where she'd put her credit card. Cash, cash she always kept in her pocket. The woman giggled as Quinn tried to count out the correct amount of money to hand to the clerk. Quinn smiled goofily back at her.

Quinn threw their bags across the room. She wasn't in a gentle mood. Quinn pinned her companion against the door and spread the woman's legs with her thigh. No formalities. No "let me buy you dinner first" conversation. No flirty innuendos.

Quinn switched their positions until she was the one with her back hitting the door.

The woman laughed. "Hold on…hold on…there's a bed in this room, you know."

"Yeah, I get that, and I promise we'll use it in all kinds of ways," Quinn breathed out. "But let's do it this way first."

Quinn leaned heavily against the wall as the woman's fingers found her in the dark.

(Break)

She was finally hungry. And the only place that came to mind was Breadstix. Maybe she was craving carbs. Or familiarity.

Airport Girl – Quinn couldn't fully recall her name, though she was moderately sure it began with a J – was asking her if she knew anyone famous in LA.

Quinn dunked the lime from her vodka tonic further down into her drink. She replied with a curt "no" before picking up her glass.

Airport Girl didn't seem offended. "I just thought, since you own a dance studio, an actress or two might've come in for lessons or something."

Quinn shrugged. "Nope." Where was her food? Had the service always been this slow? She glanced around the dining room. It was mostly empty.

"I once met Tom Hanks. He was really nice. Gave me an autograph without me having to ask."

Quinn stared at the woman. What was all this talk about Tom Hanks? Had Quinn mentioned Tom Hanks?

"You ever met anyone famous?" Airport Girl appeared genuinely curious. Quinn nodded her head no.

Had Quinn somehow attached herself to a fame groupie? And where the fuck was her food? She looked around again. She blinked against a sudden rush of noise. When had it become so crowded in here? Just a moment ago there were two – maybe three - occupied booths.

Airport Girl ordered them two more drinks.

Quinn was legitimately unnerved. She began to count the number of patrons. Had that couple just sat down? Was she counting them twice? Her fingers skimmed around and around the edge of her glass. Her eyes flitted across the packed dining area.

Until they landed on the face of a wide-eyed and clearly surprised Rachel Berry.

Quinn spilled her drink. Airport Girl snickered at her like it was the funniest thing she'd ever fucking seen. Quinn closed her eyes and willed herself to wake from this dream.

**AN: I really, really, really appreciate all of the reviews. Please (if you are willing) keep them coming. I like to know at the end of each chapter: How do you feel about Quinn at this point in the story? Have your views on her changed? Gotten better? Gotten worse? **

**It remains a teeth-grinding process (though a fun and challenging one, too…don't get me wrong) to write from "my" Quinn's perspective. I'm trying to move the narrative along while also staying true to her view of events, which obviously means I have to leave large junks of information/time out. Because, clearly, we're only seeing what Quinn's befuddled mind allows her to see. I hope I'm making it work. **


	8. Chapter 8

Quinn ran her tongue harshly against her teeth. "I want to find my toothbrush."

She was dreaming, of course, but she still needed to focus on something mundane (but concrete enough to matter) to remind herself that she was in control here. She could wake up whenever she was ready. After all, the faster she ended this dream, the quicker she could brush her fucking teeth.

It was oddly comforting: Her sudden desire to wake up and confront reality by locating her (presumed) missing toothbrush.

The woman beside her stopped her movements. "Maybe we should get this mess cleared up first. Help me, would you?"

Okay, so this was her dreaming mind's version of Brittany. That explained the blonde hair. She'd had countless dreams where she was back in high school. Still going to Breadstix every Friday evening after cheerleading practice. Sometimes waiting with Brittany for Santana to show up. Continuously masking her irritation that Santana always made Quinn move so that she and Brittany were sitting beside each other in the booth.

So, all right, she and Brittany were currently alone. Santana wasn't here yet. And Quinn had spilled her soda. Brittany was making a valiant but clumsy attempt to wipe the table dry. Quinn giggled, that was a fuck of a lot of soda.

"I'm being serious right now. Why aren't you listening? Could you be of some use, please? Christ, you're acting like a fucking weirdo."

Quinn frowned. That didn't sound very much like a Brittany-statement.

And here was Rachel! Definitely time to look for that toothbrush. Or, you know, maybe in another minute…

Because Quinn liked it when Rachel showed up. For all her dream trips back to high school, rarely did her mind reward her with images of Rachel. It was most likely her unconscious way of getting at the truth: Rachel wasn't really in Quinn's life – unless the periphery counted – during the majority of high school. The obvious exception being their heady period of flirting and those two months of sex. Correction: Fucking. Just fucking. If not for that, Rachel would be just another girl whose picture she skimmed over and largely ignored when she was feeling nostalgic enough to scan through her senior yearbook.

Rachel held out her hand to Brittany. "Here, let me get the rest of that. I'm Rachel. I'm a friend of Quinn's." Rachel smiled brightly. "I'm not just some crazy lady offering you assistance for no real reason."

The fuck? Rachel didn't recognize Brittany?

Rachel sat down beside her in the booth. "And you're Addie? Right?"

Quinn's teeth clacked painfully together. She winced as comprehension abruptly and rather brutally wove and wormed its way into her very bloodstream. High school Rachel did not know about Addie. Because Addie did not exist for high school Quinn.

Oh fuck. Not a dream. Oh fuck. Not a dream.

It was as if Rachel's words had opened a trapdoor. And Quinn had instantly fallen through it. She was no longer able to play pretend. Quinn swallowed against the coppery, unpleasant undertone of panic filling up her mouth. A slick line of sweat immediately formed on the pads of her fingertips.

Airport Girl seemed okay with being mistaken for someone she was not. "My name is Jennifer."

At least Quinn did, indeed, get the J part right. Not that it truly mattered. Quinn should really focus more on the fact that she was unable to stop the bounce of her knees against the table, even though she was making the silverware rattle.

Rachel's hand landed lightly on her left thigh, which only made the shaking grow worse. Quinn thrust her hand in her pocket. She'd find her comfort there…if she could reach it, take it, claim it.

Quinn's behavior hadn't managed to capture Jennifer's attention. She was eyeing Rachel carefully. "You look familiar. What's your last name?"

"Berry."

Jennifer sat up a little straighter and enthusiastically clapped her hands. It was such an altogether Brittany gesture that Quinn nearly sobbed. "Oh, yeah, you wrote 'If I Yield.' I saw the movie before I read the book." Jennifer leaned closer to Rachel. "I shouldn't have bothered with the movie. Your novel is so much better."

Rachel's megawatt grin reappeared as she pressed her hand more firmly down on Quinn's thigh. "I'll readily admit that it probably wasn't the easiest book to translate to the medium of film."

Quinn dropped a napkin and reached for it before Rachel could make the same move. She angled her body toward the ground and, as imperceptibly as possible, tossed an assortment of pills onto her tongue. She wasn't exactly certain how many and of what variety, but all she needed now was patience. There was comfort a-coming. She was willing to wait for it.

Jennifer nodded as if she'd had some hand in the making of the movie. "The screenplay must have been a real bitch to put together." Her eyes brightened suddenly and she clapped again as the waiter – finally! – set plates of food in front of them.

Just looking at the vegetable medley she'd ordered made Quinn want to gag. She tried not to breathe in too deeply for fear she'd vomit.

She shoved her plate toward Rachel. "Eat this."

"Any meat in it?"

"Does it look like there's any meat in it, Rachel?"

"You can never tell at first glance and this is Breadstix. I'm sure you – of all people – understand why I'd feel the need to ask."

"Just trust me, okay? There's no meat…unless some pissed off waiter mixed chicken or pork in just for shits and giggles."

"Well, now I'm most assuredly _not_ going to be eating that."

Rachel pushed the plate back in Quinn's direction. Quinn stopped her. "I'm joking, I'm joking."

Rachel reluctantly picked up a fork and speared a piece of broccoli with it. "Why don't you want any?"

"I might try some later." The bounce, bounce, bounce of Quinn's knees picked up pace. But everything else around her was slowly, slowly, slowly starting to fade out.

Rachel glanced at her before taking a bite of food. "You're awfully fidgety."

"And you're awfully annoying."

Rachel whirled around to face her so quickly that strands of her hair briefly landed on Quinn's cheek. "Easy…"

"You used to be."

Rachel sputtered out an unintelligible response and Quinn smirked.

"And how long have you two been friends?"

Both girls faced forward in a move so parallel that it could have been uplifted and reenacted from an old Glee routine. Quinn had honest to God forgotten Jennifer was sitting across from them, watching their interactions with bemusement outlining her features.

"Since junior high," Quinn answered.

"We used to date for a while, too." Rachel replied.

Quinn couldn't help it. She laughed shrilly and beat her hands against the table. "Yeah, and Rachel here? It took me _a week_ to even get her to kiss me. She was such a fucking prude when we _dated_."

If Quinn was getting to Rachel…she wasn't showing it. Rachel turned toward Jennifer. "And how long have you known Quinn?"

"A little over a day."

Rachel favored Quinn with an "explain yourself" expression mixed in with a frown.

Quinn was going to answer, really. It was a promise. Ah, but there it was again. That ethereal, warm sensation that Quinn called contentment. Her body seemed just the slightest bit heavy, but not enough to interrupt her sense of rhythm. Her thoughts a tad unclear and random, but nothing she couldn't, ultimately, control. This, this was what happiness felt like for Quinn: Being present enough to engage with the world while simultaneously removed enough from it to feel a blissed out freedom she'd be lost without.

It always snuck up on Quinn. This feeling. And, in a way, that was a huge part of the appeal. That in-between time when she was waiting for the numbness to settle back over her, allowing her a measure of reassurance that, yeah, she was going to be all right soon.

Quinn inched closer to Rachel and whispered in her ear, "I can get rid of her…if you want."

Rachel froze beside her and darted her eyes to Jennifer, who appeared too interested in her food to have caught Quinn's remark. "Don't be rude," Rachel's voice was just loud enough for only Quinn to hear her.

Quinn, never taking her mouth away from Rachel's ear, draped one leg over Rachel. "I have a hotel room."

This time, Rachel was a little louder, "You need to calm down and remember that we are currently in public."

She ghosted her fingers across Rachel's abdomen. "That never used to bother you."

Rachel shivered but grabbed Quinn's hand and placed it firmly between them. And, well, that just meant Quinn wasn't proving her point hard enough. Quickly, she straddled Rachel and buried her face in Rachel's neck. She rocked forward the slightest bit.

All of her senses were zeroed in on Rachel. The world couldn't catch up with her. She was somewhere else altogether. Some place invisible and safe. There were voices, but Quinn knew they were coming from that other life; the one she'd just left.

"Is this happening right now? What is _wrong _with her?"

"Quinn…please!"

"Ma'am, you need to stop that. This is…uh…a family establishment."

Someone gently pried her off Rachel's lap. Quinn looked over her shoulder into Brittany's eyes. And she was back in the dream again.

**AN: To answer the question of whether or not Quinn has an addiction to prescription medicine: To me, she has an addiction to anything that will get her back to that "feeling" that comforts her. When alcohol alone stopped working, she mixed it up with pills. When Valium/alcohol wouldn't cut it, she added in muscle relaxants. When she reaches a threshold, she's finding ways of breaking through it so she can maintain her high. I'm really trying hard here to convey her warped sense of reality, but I've never been in a situation like hers before. I'm flying blind and leaving it up to reviewers to let me know if I'm even remotely steering in the right direction. So, let me know…even though the site seems to be messing up the reviews. As in: They aren't showing up all of the time. But I still get them via e-mail. **

**I know we haven't "seen" much of Rachel thus far…but do you have any strong feelings about her one way or another? Do you have your own head canon as to her intentions re: Quinn?**

**One more thing I want to address: I in no way want to make the case that Rachel alone = the cause of Quinn's problems. Sure, the catalyst for Quinn's current meltdown was those fucking gardenias…but we don't know how long she's been self-medicating but keeping it largely under control. This version of Quinn has few friends, a distant relationship with her family, and a desire for random hook-ups as opposed to stable relationships. Rachel is a part of the problem but not the sole reason for what's going on with Quinn. **

**This was supposed to be a one shot, damn it! Now, I feel the same as Quinn when she let Addie move in with her: I didn't want it to happen…and now I can't stop it! :P **


	9. Chapter 9

"Why was six afraid of seven?"

A hand on her back pushed her forward as another around her wrist did the same. No one seemed interested in guessing why, in fact, six was afraid of seven.

No matter. Quinn would solider on. "Because seven eight nine!"

Nobody laughed. Quinn found the lack of response annoying. "Oh, _come on_! That one right there is a fucking classic. Like, seven_ ate_ nine, you know? It's a pretty clever joke."

She was outside now and the cool air that assaulted her was almost enough to knock her over. It was somehow too physical; the way the air seemed to punch at her skin. She was in no position to fight with the fucking air, so she dropped down to her knees and rested her body against a parked car.

The two girls beside her stopped walking and looked down at her. Their faces reflected an equal degree of incredulity mixed in with anger. Oh, and maybe add in a dash of embarrassment.

Jennifer sighed and pointed over at Rachel. "There are clearly unresolved issues here that I'm interrupting."

Rachel blinked over at Jennifer. "Despite the accuracy of your statement, I assume you're sharing a room with Quinn? _ You_ should take her back to the hotel."

Quinn piped up, "Or we could all go back together." She reached over and traced a line down the curve of Rachel's leg muscle. She winked up at Jennifer. "I'm sensing we could have a_ very_ nice time. It can be _incredibly kinky_ when you double the numbers. And I'm definitely game."

Jennifer ignored Quinn. "I _just _met her."

"Didn't stop you from fucking me," Quinn countered in a sing-song tone.

Rachel, too, acted as if Quinn hadn't spoken. "Let me be extremely blunt with you, _Jennifer_. My plans this evening _did not_ include one Quinn Fabray and her apparent fuck buddy. At the very least you could drive her back to the hotel."

Jennifer barely gave Rachel a chance to finish her sentence. "Here's how I view it, _Rachel_. I think it might be best if she stayed with someone she knows. Maybe you could help her with whatever problem she's having?"

Quinn was tired of everyone talking around her but not to her. "I'm nobody's _problem_, ladies. I'm a motherfucking _person_ who's merely trying to find out which one of you is going to fuck me tonight."

Jennifer glared at Quinn and took a step closer to her rental car.

Quinn found that reaction extremely funny. She pulled at the hem of Rachel's skirt to get the girl's attention. "Ah, Rachel, watch her! She's creeping away. Looks like I'm about a hop and a jump away from becoming your _problem_. Sorry…about…you." Quinn stood up suddenly and swayed closer to Rachel.

Jennifer eyed Quinn and Rachel. She threw up her hands in apparent defeat. "Yeah…I think you're right on that one, Quinn. You're her problem now. I'm gonna get my stuff from the hotel and head out to the airport. Then, you know, the two of you can do…whatever with the room."

Quinn ignored Jennifer. As far as she was concerned, Jennifer was no longer relevant. She bowed low toward Rachel before pulling her into an awkward dance. She kept stepping on Rachel's feet as she settled on a song.

"I…I won't ever be your cornerstone!" Quinn was slightly off-key but, for the most part, she thought she sounded okay.

Rachel called out to Jennifer, but the woman kept walking. Quinn twirled Rachel closer. She didn't see Jennifer get in the car and drive away without another word directed at either of them.

Quinn continued singing, "I…I don't wanna be here holding on!"

Quinn paused. She pushed Rachel away from her before looking around at her surroundings. Laughing, on a whim, she took off for the far side of the restaurant.

Rachel yelled out her name.

Quinn didn't slow down. She threw the rest of the lyrics back over her shoulder, "Watch her run! Can you feel it?"

Sucking down the night air and forcing her body to remain balanced, Quinn half-dashed, half-skipped toward the field behind Breadstix.

(Break)

She was probably a little over half way across the field before Rachel tackled her. They tumbled down together and Rachel landed haphazardly on top of her. Quinn kept Rachel trapped there and she couldn't – didn't want to? – prevent her body from pressing forward against Rachel's own. She knew Rachel would read this as Quinn being desperate, needy. But that didn't seem to matter much to Quinn. A moan escaped past Quinn's lips.

"Convince me this is what you really want," Rachel breathed out slowly.

Exasperation and lust fought for dominance inside Quinn's mind. "Fuck, Rachel, do you need me to get naked for you and spread my goddamn legs?"

"Your nakedness is not a requirement, no."

"Well, then, do something about how wet I am." Quinn bucked her hips, hard, and Rachel almost lost her grip on the edges of Quinn's thighs. Quinn steadied them both, but Rachel quickly unraveled her just the same.

That first brush of Rachel's fingers against her clit was almost too overwhelming. It sent a tremor of devastating, crushing want to where she needed it most. It flattened her against the ground. It caused her hips to frantically jerk up to meet Rachel's hand. It made her_ feel_.

There was a bullet coming to claim Quinn. One that would slam into her so mercilessly that she would be wise to reach out and still the movement of Rachel's fingers inside her. She could turn this around. She could outrun the path of the bullet. She _could_.

"Tell me…say it…that you love me," Rachel's voice was harsh, rough, commanding.

And Quinn knew the bullet was going to hit her directly in her heart, where the most damage would take place. She tried to stop herself, cut off her orgasm, not give Rachel the satisfaction. But her body fought against her as it careened skyward at Rachel's words. Her mouth formed a silent O when she came.

Quinn dug her shoes into the grass and exhaled loudly. Tears fluttered at the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over to her cheeks and down her jaw. Quinn's body had betrayed her. Had told Rachel – without the use of words – exactly what she'd wanted to hear. Quinn turned her head away from what she was sure was a smug grin of victory on Rachel's face.

Rachel's laugh was low but cruel. "And you had the nerve to call me easy."

Quinn closed her eyes against the sound of Rachel's voice.

She had never hated Rachel more than she did at that moment.

(Break)

Quinn rested her body more firmly against the car door. She'd agreed to let Rachel drive her back to her hotel. Really, she didn't have any other viable options. Call Jennifer for a pick-up? She hadn't remembered Airport Girl's name until Rachel mistook her for Addie, much less her phone number. Reach out to mommy and daddy? She'd rather get a job at Breadstix and just never leave the restaurant. Call a cab? If past history was any indication, she'd be waiting for hours.

The honor of escorting Quinn back to a tawdry hotel on the outskirts of Lima thus fell to Rachel by default.

"This song is such a favorite of mine." Rachel drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. It was obvious she wanted to keep them on neutral territory. Rachel was deliberately not mentioning what had happened between them – or, more specifically, to Quinn – in the field.

Quinn watched Rachel count out the melody of the song. Just ten minutes ago those fingers were…

She hurriedly switched off that line of thought.

Quinn was miles away from being in the mood to humor Rachel. "Enough of your 'these are a few of my favorite things' game! I'll admit that, initially, it had its appeal. But you've officially reached the point of overkill."

Rachel's eyes never left the road. "You need to work a little harder at being a grown-up, Quinn. I'm_ not _trying to play any games with you. I was simply making a harmless comment about a song on the radio."

Quinn didn't bother answering Rachel or commenting on her snarky tone. Her confidence was a little shaky. She'd taken a pill before getting in Rachel's car, but it was just notworking fast enough. She felt too present, too much in the here and now. Everything about this was wrong. Quinn braced herself against the urge to scream or cry or jump out of the goddamn car. Anything – fucking anything! – to shake herself loose.

But Rachel seemed determined to keep Quinn in this state of near-panic. "When I sent you that text – the one telling you I was nowhere you wanted to be? I guess I was mistaken."

"Not really."

Rachel gave her a quick glance before focusing her attention back on the road. "Why are you in Lima?"

"Family visit," Quinn gritted out.

"How are your parents?"

"I haven't gotten to the visit part yet."

Rachel favored her with a frown of disapproval. "So…you've been spending all your time in a hotel? Fucking some woman you don't even know?"

"I like your summary of my activities, Rachel. Very concise. And just because I didn't _know _her all that well doesn't mean I didn't _like_ her."

"Yes, I assume there were certainly things about her that you found appealing."

Quinn rolled her eyes before remembering that she was facing away from Rachel, effectively making the gesture meaningless. "Oh, there were_ lots _of things about her that were interesting. You never know, we could have fallen in love. Gotten married in an airport – 'cause that's where we met. I'm pretty sure we'd go with pink roses…"

The car grinded to a halt and Quinn bounced forward in her seat. She thought maybe she'd finally cracked Rachel until she realized they had arrived at the hotel.

Rachel got out of the vehicle and made her way to Quinn's side of the car. She extended her hand to Quinn and pulled her out of the car. Rachel smiled beatifically at Quinn. "You can never go wrong with pink."

(Break)

When Quinn returned to the bedroom after splashing enough cold water on her face to drown a small village, Rachel was holding something out to her. Quinn stopped walking. Stopped moving altogether. The world slowed down. Maybe the pill she took earlier was finally weaving its magic. More likely, her distress over Rachel holding the source of Quinn's contentment in the palm of her hand had caused a sort of dreaming otherness to overpower her.

Rachel's expression was hard to read. "You're in the habit of sharing prescription drugs with Santana?"

"Those are mine." Quinn knew she sounded like a child who'd lost her favorite toy to the neighborhood bully. And she was surprisingly okay with that.

"Not according to the label." Rachel shook the bottle open and poured most of its contents into her hand. "What's with all the variety?"

Quinn lunged for Rachel. Pills scattered everywhere and the sound made Quinn instantly sick to her stomach. God, what if she couldn't find them all?

Rachel squealed and tried to duck past Quinn. And she very nearly succeeded. But Quinn was just able to wrap one arm around Rachel. She flung Rachel onto the bed as more pills hit the floor. Quinn groaned inwardly and grabbed at whatever pills remained in Rachel's hand. Rachel wrapped her legs around Quinn and held her there tightly.

"Quinn…please…just…" Rachel's breathing was already erratic, almost hectic.

Okay, so this was how Rachel wanted to play it. Quinn could handle that. But first…she pried a Valium from Rachel's hand. She placed it on her tongue as if she were back in church and taking communion.

"Why are you doing that right now?" Rachel's question had no real bite to it. She probably didn't care if Quinn even offered her a response. She was already swaying her hips up to meet Quinn.

Quinn shrugged her shoulders and moved in time with Rachel. "Want one?" Quinn positioned the Valium back to the center of her tongue. She offered her mouth to Rachel and wondered which one of them was making the bigger sacrifice.

**AN: Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Regrets? Hate Quinn? Hate Rachel? Hate them both?**

**Song in this chapter = Pyro by Kings of Leon.**

**I will try to update again early next week. Happy New Year!**


	10. Chapter 10

Some jackass in the AV department was going to owe Quinn a new set of retinas if they didn't reposition that fucking spotlight. And fast. Because this glare was seriously too much. Already, speckles of orange darted in front of her like fireflies. Shutting her eyes only heightened the problem. Behind her closed eyelids, a myriad number of those orange fireflies multiplied. Again and again.

"Hands behind your back."

She wasn't sure who was speaking to her. Was it possible that those glowing orange flecks were real, tangible? And clogging her ears? She turned her head to figure out who had addressed her.

Brittany stood beside her, hands firmly locked around her waist and those annoying orange dots surrounding her. Brittany had joined the fireflies.

"Christ, who's running this show?"

"Don't be so loud."

"It's insanely bright in here!"

"Please, calm down!"

That was advice she badly wanted to heed. She was freaking Brittany out. Quinn could tell because Brittany had broken position. Shit, this was going to cost them the competition. Brittany swiped her hand across Quinn's cheek.

And Quinn relaxed into the touch.

(Break)

"Who was your first kiss?"

Brittany swung her legs against the side of the stage, looking questionably at Quinn, anticipating her response. The swirls of orange still hovered close to Brittany. But they were not nearly as intense. It was much less threatening this way.

Quinn grinned, maybe a little bashfully. She couldn't be certain. "That, my darling, is a question to which you already have the answer."

Quinn hadn't been interested in kissing boys. All of her friends at cheer camp could talk of nothing else. She was only thirteen. Wasn't that a little young to care about kissing…or boys in general? Was she already falling behind? Unaware of some major talent those other girls had seemingly mastered?

The only person she'd ever considered kissing was Brittany. And only then because her best friend was pretty and sweet and considerate. She imagined it would be very nice and uncomplicated, a kiss from Brittany. More importantly, one kiss wouldn't mess up their friendship. She'd much prefer to kiss a friend than some random boy.

So, on her first day back from camp, Quinn went over to Brittany's and unceremoniously asked for a kiss. Unfazed and willing, Brittany had remarked that this would be good practice for when she finally convinced Santana to kiss her.

Quinn looked past Brittany and up to the rafters past the stage. When would those infuriating spots stop darting around her? She lost herself in the orange haze until Brittany spoke again.

"All right, then, I can probably guess. How about this one? Who took your virginity?"

Quinn wasn't sure how to answer that particular question. Brittany was idly chewing on her thumbnail, again merely waiting on Quinn's reply.

She couldn't tell her that _Rachel _had been the one. She'd never mentioned it to Brittany. She suspected Brittany would feel sorry for her. Poor Quinn, still going after the girl who took her virginity. The one who tossed her aside. Nope. Brittany didn't need to know that information.

She finally resolved herself to another lie. "Some girl at cheer camp. You wouldn't know her. It was nothing special."

That answer must have appeased Brittany. She abruptly changed topics.

"Can you sleep?"

Brittany put her head down on the stage and rested her arms across her chest.

Quinn laughed at her. "Here?"

"Yeah, where else?"

Fair enough. Where else, indeed. Quinn positioned her body closer to Brittany.

But that fucking spotlight was back on her again! Quinn restlessly kicked her legs as the light grew brighter…brighter…brighter…

(Break)

"Quinn! Stop kicking! Stop it!"

Hands pushed her back on the bed and she briefly struggled until she realized it was Rachel. Only Rachel. Quinn rolled over on her side and closed her eyes again. She wasn't quite out of the dream. Her body felt like it did when she was floating in a pool. She was suspended somewhere between the ground and the sky. Mostly weightless. Mostly submerged. Still able to recognize the world above her. Not able to see or hear enough to care.

Quinn glanced up at the ceiling. She spoke through the buzzing which had taken up residence inside her brain. "Why is the overhead light on?"

Rachel heaved one of her patented, overly dramatic sighs. "We never turned it off, though God knows I tried. You kept pulling me back." Rachel stared at the light. "I don't find it as bright as you seem to think. You were intent on complaining about it. Over and over, I might add."

"Of course you'd add it," Quinn grumbled.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm simply explaining to you why we kept the light on - the one that _clearly_ bothered you despite my attempts to turn it off and you_ continuously_ preventing me from doing so."

Quinn looked more closely at Rachel. Her underwear was back on and so was her shirt, though it remained unbuttoned. Well, okay, this was a familiar scene. It must be about that time for Rachel to blow her a kiss on her way out the door.

Rachel stood up from the bed but Quinn pulled at her arm. "Were you going to tell me you're leaving?"

"Yes…" Rachel hesitated, stopped talking altogether. She sat back on the edge of the bed and gazed down at her knees.

Quinn's eyes wandered around the room. She tried to spot as many pills as possible without appearing too obvious. Rachel's voice startled her, broke her count, and she once more directed her attention to the girl sitting beside her.

"I wanted to be, I don't know, a bit better prepared before I woke you." Rachel grabbed for Quinn's hand. Quinn let her. "None of this was a mistake, Quinn. In fact, this was _really_ good for me…" Rachel trailed off and let her eyes focus on the window across the room.

Quinn sighed in the rather futile attempt to mask her irritation. She shifted in the bed and drew her knees up to prevent her legs from trembling. "I'm guessing we have once again reached the end of our journey? No more 'these are a few of my favorite things' texts? No more heavy breathing in my ear when you want to have phone sex?"

Rachel flinched, turned and faced Quinn. Their eyes met. Quinn dropped her gaze when the effort of holding on to something as small as that gesture between them became too much.

Rachel's voice was cautious, almost weary, when she spoke again. "Do you remember how you felt – during those weeks before we started sleeping together? When we were flirting with each other?"

Quinn was suddenly wary. "Vaguely."

"I spent _so much_ of my relationship with David…"

Quinn held up her hand. She should've probably known the answer to this question, but: "Who's David?"

Rachel looked at her as if she'd suddenly turned stupid. "The guy I almost married! Did you not even _read _the wedding invite?"

Had she? Santana had been right: She'd shredded the damn thing pretty quickly.

Quinn nodded her head as convincingly as possible and motioned for Rachel to continue speaking.

"Anyway, I kept trying to reach that point with David, _long_ after we'd been together. And it made me wonder – was it a tactic on my part? Was I using David as a placeholder?"

Quinn was lost. Her brain was entirely, wonderfully too foggy. "Placeholder for what?"

Rachel dropped her eyes, stared again at her knees. "For that…that _awareness_ that someone wanted me – _really_ wanted me – I never had that with David. I wondered if, maybe, I'd still _get that_ from you."

Quinn decided to let her brain take a little walk away from this situation. Because things were already far, far beyond her control. Her body was gloriously floating – partly here and the rest in that other place Quinn found herself when the pills were at their most effective. She instinctively knew Rachel was about to reveal something important to her. But Quinn was in no position to be an active or invested participant in the conversation.

The buzzing at the back of her skull kept leaping forward to mingle and overlap with the sound of Rachel's voice. She heard Rachel but her brain couldn't make the shift from hearing to understanding: To actually feeling the intent behind Rachel's statements. Rachel's words were disconnected, fractured by the time they reached her. She comprehended them, sure, but their full impact remained well outside of her grasp.

Still, Quinn was determined to muddle through Rachel's story, her explanation. "So…what, exactly, was your brilliant plan? I show up at your wedding, see the gardenias and have a nostalgic, romantic flashback to the last time we fucked…and…what? I proceed to declare my undying love for you?"

Rachel suddenly found something every interesting to look at on the bedspread. Sighing, she said, "I expected maybe you'd shoot me smoldering glances at the reception or make a few snide comments about the décor. At best, you might try to find me before the wedding so you could yell at me."

The buzzing inside Quinn took over completely, grew louder, spoke for her. "How would provoking me have made you better able to magically conjure up emotions you'd last felt in high school? Any response on my part could _easily_ have been explained as me being pissed that you stole my ideas concerning the choice of a wedding flower!"

Rachel's shrug was nonchalant but sure. "I would've known the difference."

Rachel sounded as if she were underwater. Or maybe behind a glass partition. It was taking Quinn _forever_ to decipher Rachel's words into smaller, understandable bits of data.

Quinn rubbed furiously at her eyes. She let the words pour out of her like so much water down the drain. She didn't care where they ended up. "How? How would you have known the difference? Please, please enlighten me!" Quinn stopped, shook her head violently, gripped the edge of the pillow. "No, no, nevermind – It doesn't matter. In your sadistic little mind, you would've shaped _any_ reaction into whatever image you needed to see. Just so_ you_ could feel _wanted_. Goddammit, you used me! Again! God, you really are still the same as you were in high school." Quinn hurled the pillow across the room and flung herself back on the bed.

Rachel exhaled loudly. "Excuse me, but we used _each other_ in high school. Don't try to remember that one any differently." Rachel paused, shrugged again. "But you're probably right about the rest."

Something came unanchored in Quinn's chest, which only caused the buzzing to quicken – somehow lengthen - in an apparent act of sympathy. She grasped at the tangle of words caught inside her throat, found some, went with them. "And you were willing to let all this happen at your _wedding_? You took a chance that I might cause a scene…and you didn't care that it was your _wedding day_? Fuck me, Rachel, that's as twisted as it gets."

Rachel was turning shrugging into a real art form. "Yes, to be perfectly honest with you." Rachel's eyes searched the room but never met Quinn's. "The only thing I didn't prepare for was…was you_ fucking me _against my reception tent. And then just…just leaving me there. You _always_ get the better of me and I _hate_ it." Rachel slammed her hand down on the bed.

Quinn watched her closely. There were questions she wanted to ask of Rachel. But it was as if she'd swallowed mud and her tongue was too busy with the clean-up to formulate words. And with her brain currently out of commission, she was, unfortunately, rendered momentarily mute.

One question briefly dislodged itself from the confusing mess that was her head: Why did Rachel go through _that much_ effort just to get back at her? Frankly, it seemed absurd. Quick as heat lightening – elusive as those orange sparks - the thought dissipated.

Struggling for coherency of any sort, she heaved words at Rachel, hoping some would stick. "So, what now, Rachel? You're going to leave…because you have...what? Control again? Something over me?"

Rachel nodded, crossed her arms. "Exactly that…before you can regain the upper hand. I was truly stunned when I saw you in Lima." Rachel let her eyes linger over Quinn's naked body. "But I think you can agree that I recovered quickly."

Quinn absentmindedly pulled a sheet over her. The buzzing in her head was now a demented chorus that refused to quiet down, to lessen. "And the texts and the calls and getting Brittany involved?"

That shrug again. "Consider it a slow build. I was waiting for you to cave and agree to meet up with me in New York. Or I would've come to LA. As I just a moment ago informed you, location was not a factor."

Quinn was so, so glad that she wasn't entirely _in_ this conversation. She was still as woozy and disoriented as when Rachel shook her awake and told her to stop kicking. And, really, the buzzing was as potent as any heated declaration of love she'd ever heard whispered in her ear. Nothing mattered outside that wall of noise. The whirls of sound upon sound only served to block out rational thought, actions, motives.

She bit down on her tongue before addressing Rachel again. "Why bother telling me all this? Or, wait…did you want me to know? Was this part of your 'I fucked over Quinn Fabray' victory speech?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure. How much does it matter to you?" Rachel's eyes locked on Quinn's.

How much _did_ it matter to her? The buzzing, not surprisingly, supplied her with what she could only acknowledge was the most brilliant of answers. A shiver of lust swept its way inside her body, knocking the buzzing somewhat off-kilter. But she didn't need to worry. Everything would regulate itself soon. Of that she could be certain.

Quinn reached over and danced her fingers along Rachel's bare thigh. This appeared to both confuse and slightly entice Rachel, who unconsciously opened her legs a little wider. Quinn let her voice stay low, soothing. "I'll let you win, Rachel, because the outcome isn't all that important to me. This was your game, not mine. I got you good enough at your wedding." Quinn smiled at Rachel and tried to kiss the dubious look off Rachel's face. Rachel let her.

Her hand inching that much closer to her destination, Quinn said, "And I'm still getting something out of it. Just…let me have you one more time. Please?" There was that desperation again, creeping into the very tenor of Quinn's words. Rachel would delight in the sound of it. Of that she could be certain.

Rachel's head tilted back, eyes momentarily closing. She ran her fingers through Quinn's hair and looked at her skeptically. "I don't remember you being this wanton back in high school."

Quinn couldn't stop the laughter that worked its way languidly from her throat. "Wanton! That is_ such_ a Rachel Berry word to use. How does a healthy sex drive make me wanton?"

"From what I can gather, I'd counter that your sex drive is overly-healthy."

Quinn smirked, "Better that than the alternative." And with that, Quinn pulled Rachel closer with one hand and bent to the floor with the other to snatch up however many pills she found littered there.

Rachel stilled Quinn's hand from travelling up to her breasts, kept Quinn's wrist locked around her waist. She frowned at Quinn. "What is it with you and those pills? The one you gave me only made me sleepy. In fact, I'm _still_ a little groggy."

Quinn grinned at her. "And that would be the point. You let me take a couple of pills, we have sex, and I'll end up asleep. You can make your grand exit without worrying that I'll wake up and we'll be forced into another awkward goodbye."

Rachel remained unconvinced. She leaned into Quinn's touch but not fully. Not enough. In a hesitant, searching tone, Rachel whispered haltingly into Quinn's ear, "Will you say it? Say 'I love you'…when you come?"

Quinn smiled before downing two pills with a quick flip of her neck backwards. She let the other three pills fall soundlessly back onto the mattress. She obviously hadn't taken enough to even get her part way to sleep, but the amount would be sufficient to keep her calm. Ah yes, she had Rachel now. She twisted her fingers in Rachel's hair and pulled the girl on top of her. "If you make me come hard enough."

(Break)

She didn't know if Rachel was easy to wake or a sound sleeper. This was a brand new state of affairs. Before, back during their grand ol' days of being McKinley High seniors, one of them always left almost immediately after the sex was over. There was never any actual sleeping involved in their arrangement.

She'd held out on Rachel last night. Quinn would come with a loud groan or a whispered sigh or a mocking burst of laughter. But she refused to tell Rachel that she loved her. And, of course, that just made Rachel want it more.

When Rachel's body grew heavier on top of her own…When Rachel's hands moved slower and slower…When Rachel kept jerking her head up from Quinn's neck, snapping her eyes open in the process…

Only then did Quinn lift her body high off the bed, surrender to one final orgasm, and pour out the words 'I love you' into Rachel's waiting ear.

Rachel had instantly collapsed on top of Quinn with a muttered "I thought as fucking much." And she had soon fallen asleep.

Now, Quinn was extra quiet as she crawled along the floor, swiping up however many pills she stumbled upon. Trekking backward, she hurriedly pulled on a fresh set of clothes from her suitcase. She grabbed at a handful of shirts and jeans, reached for her purse, snatched Rachel's car keys from the desk, and tip-toed – carefully, carefully - out of the room.

Unless she was mistaken – which she reluctantly admitted was, at this point, entirely possible – it was Sunday morning. Her parents would be at their cabin by the lake. They spent every weekend during this time of year at the cabin they'd bought several years ago as a retirement present to themselves. She was depending on their predictability. And her father's chronic back pain.

Sure enough, after letting herself in to the empty house by way of the spare key hidden under the mailbox, Quinn was rewarded for her efforts. There, in her father's medicine cabinet, was a recently re-filled bottle of Oxy-Contin. She could not have dreamed of better luck. She debated – albeit briefly – of only taking half or so of the contents. She settled on the entire bottle. Her parents would blame it on the housekeeper. Or the gardener. Or…well, she didn't fucking care who took the rap.

Back in the car, she noted that Rachel had not yet tried to call her. She must still be asleep. Sound sleeper, then, Quinn guessed. Glancing around, she couldn't be certain that this car belonged to Rachel. In all likelihood, it was probably one of her Dads' vehicles. Rachel was most likely just borrowing it while she was in Lima.

Quinn maneuvered the car in the direction of the interstate. She wasn't at all sure where she wanted to end up. Or how much time she had before Rachel realized she was gone. She wondered if Rachel would think that Quinn had simply run an errand or gone to get them coffee. Those thoughts alone made Quinn laugh more freely than she had in months.

Let Rachel explain to her parents how she'd come to lose the car. Let her tell them why she was stuck in a sleazy hotel room. Let Rachel clue them in as to why she never came home the night before. Let Rachel Berry try to track her down. Fucking let her.

Quinn rolled down the window, turned on the radio, and groped around for her father's pills. Your move, Rachel. Your fucking move.

Because Quinn Fabray once again had the upper hand. And it didn't matter all that much to her that her grip was already starting to falter.

**AN: As always, I'd love to know how you feel about Quinn/Rachel/both girls at this point. Thanks for reading/reviewing/alerting. I really appreciate the feedback. **


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: All messages to Quinn are in bold. **

"And Lauren, the woman with the dead brother? The one everyone suspected left the baby with…that one guy…can't think of his name…but…" Fuck, this woman was incredibly talented with her tongue. Quinn's eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth went slack before she remembered what she was saying. "Are…are you following me?"

"Uh-huh…yeah…go on," the woman replied, head still firmly clamped between Quinn's thighs.

Quinn groaned and reached behind her to grab at the door handle for some type of leverage. "She…she never went to France. Jesus!" Quinn banged her head against the window. "She…stayed in the city…and no one fucking knew it. Not even one person… guessed… it!" Her last few words came out, strangled, garbled.

Her orgasm was barreling at her. Hunting her down but never quite finding her. She pushed harder against the woman. Quinn whimpered, struggled, demanded the woman go faster. Be a little more aggressive. She was closer now but still too far away for it to matter.

An image of Rachel bullied its way inside her mind. Quinn moaned at the intrusion. She let Rachel's words take her over, guide her.

Tell me you love me. Say it. Tell me you love me. Say it.

And Quinn finally came with a choked sob of relief. She slumped further down as her fingers groped for her phone. Her body pulsed with not only the effects of her orgasm, but also from that near constant state of high induced by the pills.

She was being careful, though. No more mixing pills. Only the occasional alcoholic chaser to wash them down. She had become a modern day Goldilocks: Quinn had found _just the right amount_. Enough to keep her tranquil, outside of herself. But she was still able to function reasonably well. Sometimes, at night, she'd celebrate another day of victory over Rachel. Quinn would peel off the time release capsule on two of her father's Oxy-Contin pills and let them praise her accomplishments by blanking her out for hours on a stretch.

Quinn had been gone a week. Rachel hadn't found her, though Quinn had sent her a couple of obscure hints via text message. And she was just about to offer up another clue to Rachel.

As the woman on top of her nuzzled against Quinn's neck, Quinn angled her phone so that she could get a nice view of the woman's bare back along with the tiniest of glimpses at where she was lying. Quinn furtively snapped a picture. The woman breathed out deeply but showed no indication that she was aware of Quinn's movements above her.

Sighing contentedly, the woman asked, "So…how does the book end?"

Not even bothering to conceal her actions, Quinn tapped out a text. "You'll just have to read it yourself."

The woman laughed good-naturedly. "Kinda hard for me to do that now."

"Hmmm, but not impossible." Quinn hit send and lazily dropped her phone back on the floor. She figured this message was far clearer than the others. The first had been a close-up of a sidewalk on a residential street. The second a far-away shot of a cow standing alone in a field. This one a rather lovely image of a woman's back and the interior of the vehicle.

The message that accompanied each picture that she sent to Rachel was always the same: Your car is here.

She was certain that Rachel would be able to read the intent behind this particular one: There is a naked woman in your car, Rachel. I brought her here. And she made me come. It was stupidly easy, Rachel, believe me.

Believe me, Rachel. Your car is here.

(Break)

Not until she'd moved to LA did Quinn realize how downright simple it was to get a girl to go to bed with her. She'd naively assumed that it was only boys (and Rachel, briefly) who'd ever show any interest in her. At McKinley, Quinn had quickly become familiar with their gazes, their leers. She knew that boys stared at her when they were apt to ignore most other girls. She had_ power_ over them. She could have conquered any number of them, and she honestly gave it a try with Finn. He was clearly interested and she was indifferent enough to give him a chance. A slim chance…one that lasted all of two dates. But trying to fit herself into that conventional, tidy life her parents must have imagined for her was not going to happen for Quinn.

She had suspected it when she kissed Brittany. And during that hot second when she had wanted nothing more than to go down on Santana Lopez. And, again, right after Finn gave her a quick but firm peck goodnight after their second date and she had felt…absolutely nothing. And every time that tingle of anticipation mixed in with dread worked its way through her body right before Rachel walked into second period algebra during their senior year. She had, honestly, known it all along, what she wanted and preferred.

And after Quinn had slept with a woman she'd met one night during Brittany and Santana's "we just moved to LA!" party, she was never again short on opportunities to act on her desires.

The girl from the party represented a lot of firsts that Quinn still relied upon: Being too drunk to remember names, stumbling in the dark of unfamiliar rooms, sneaking away in the mornings.

Her time with Party Girl (she always gave them some kind of nickname) had provided her with another constant that subsequently haunted each of her sexual encounters: Thinking about Rachel. Right before Party Girl made her come, an unnerving theory bulleted its way into her brain: I'm cheating on Rachel! I'm cheating on Rachel! But what a stupid idea. Rachel was in New York. They weren't even on speaking terms. Rachel wasn't hers. So each time she had sex after that, it was with an altogether different thought in her mind: I'm getting rid of Rachel. I'm getting rid of Rachel.

Now, she just needed to figure out how to get rid of this woman. This woman who was here with her in the back of Rachel's car.

Quinn was done with her. Time to take the car somewhere else.

(Break)

Prior experience – thanks again, Party Girl – had taught her that she'd have no trouble picking up the girl she'd met in a coffee house an hour ago.

It was almost too easy for Quinn. Always. She briefly wondered how it might turn out if some woman actually presented her with a challenge, played hard to get.

Coffee Girl glanced shyly at Quinn, grinned. It was all the invitation Quinn required. She casually made her way across the room and sat down beside the woman. One of Coffee Girl's arms rested on top of a large stack of books.

One of them, naturally, was Rachel's.

The woman smiled at Quinn again when she saw her staring hard at the books. "Have you read any of these?"

Quinn lifted up Rachel's book, looked it over, sat it back down. "This one."

"Like it?"

She nodded. "Very much. I read it twice. The author is a real bitch, though."

Coffee Girl's eyes narrowed as she took in the cover of Rachel's novel. "Oh? Meet her at a book signing?"

"We went to the same high school. We grew up in Lima. It's not far from here, though you'd never hear Rachel tell it."

"What do you mean?" Coffee Girl seemed genuinely interested.

Quinn blatantly, giddily launched into her lie. "Rachel hates it in Lima. She's a big city girl now. Lives in New York. She won't even come home to visit her parents." Quinn absently flipped through the pages, happened upon Rachel's picture on the back cover. "She barely acknowledges her parents, from what my mother tells me. They're pretty heartbroken over it."

Coffee Girl wrinkled her nose, frowned. "I don't think I wanna read this book."

Quinn let her gaze drift across the woman's face, landing on her lips. "Yeah, I definitely agree, you don't wanna read this book." Quinn laid her hand on top of Rachel's novel, gently brushing Coffee Girl's fingers with her own. She picked up the book, raised her eyebrow at the woman as if daring her, and casually threw the book in the trash. Quinn's smile was soft, welcoming. "If you'd like, I can give you a really good summary."

Coffee Girl gave a short nod of her head. Quinn took her to the car.

(Break)

It was surprisingly easy, sending Coffee Girl on her merry little way. After declaring that Quinn was "one of those types of women," she'd willingly enough dressed and departed. Quinn remained in the back seat of the car, half-naked, ready to take a pill. Her phone buzzed.

She doubted it was Rachel. She'd called twenty-two times the first day Quinn had taken possession of her vehicle, which Quinn figured was excessive even for Rachel. Rachel never left any voicemail messages. Her calls had tapered out over the course of the week. She hadn't tried to contact Quinn at all in the last couple of days. Quinn thought, maybe, Rachel had finally alerted the police. That would technically make Quinn a fugitive, right?

Picking up her phone, she saw that the missed call was from Santana. Perfect. That was really and truly fucking perfect. She'd much rather have preferred that Rachel send the police after her. Her phone vibrated in her hand. This should be a fun voicemail.

**Answer…your…goddamn…phone. You are insane. Officially in-fucking-sane. This is totally, certifiably nuts, even by Fabray standards. Call…me…back. **

Sweet Jesus, how Quinn hated, hated, hated the sound of that voice. She happily erased the message.

Lying back, that gleeful thought sprung up in her mind once more: I'm getting rid of Rachel! I'm getting rid of Rachel!

Your car is here, Rachel. And I'm getting rid of you.

(Break)

Santana tried again the next day.

**I've been talking to Rachel. Do you want me to hear your side of the story?**

Quinn could legitimately give a fuck if Santana knew her take on things. Voicemail deleted.

She stayed in bed that day. Vanished into that other world, completely blissed out. She woke late in the night to the annoying sound of her phone. Groaning, she reached for it, waited for the inevitable voicemail.

**Fuck it, Quinn. You get one…final…chance. Or this is going to blow up in your face. Never say I didn't warn you.**

Persistence, Santana, won't help you reach your destination. Another message gone.

Early the following afternoon, Quinn took a photo of Rachel's car, sparkles of sunlight framing the length of it. She sent Rachel the familiar message: Your car is here.

It surprised her when, not two minutes later, Rachel replied to her. Rachel had attached a picture to the text. Quinn grinned. Oh good, Rachel was finally willing to play.

Still smirking, Quinn brought up the picture on her phone. Suddenly, she was staring at her dance studio. She frowned. Was that picture from their website? She didn't think so. She scrolled down to Rachel's message and her heart flip-flopped erratically at what she saw. It was absurd. There was just no fucking way. None whatsoever. Quinn's breath hitched harshly in her throat, refused to come out. Rachel wouldn't do it. And Brittany would never, _never _agree to it.

Quinn read and re-read those five simple words. It wasn't real. She was in the dream. No other explanation made sense. She needed to wake up and find her toothbrush. She sagged against Rachel's car and glanced at the message once more.

**Our dance studio is here.**

**AN2: Many of you have very strong opinions about Quinn and/or Rachel. I can appreciate that. Keep telling me how you feel. As usual, this chapter jumps back and forth because I'm writing as Quinn is thinking/remembering/whatever else she's doing. Quinn's perspective is a flighty one. She's all over the place. Personally, I blame the pills. I leave it up to the reader to determine how reliable Quinn is as a narrator. I don't know when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully…soon.**


	12. Chapter 12

Running laps. Around the track.

Running laps. Around the track.

This, this was what Quinn hated the absolute most about cheerleading practice.

Her body protested, tipped forward. She was _always_ so close to falling when she ran.

Brittany passed her, circled back. "Hey, you haven't been here in so long. Thought maybe you quit the team."

A rush of pure joy flowed through Quinn. She'd found Brittany! But she'd have to run a fuck of a lot faster if she wanted to keep her. Brittany wasn't holding back for Quinn's benefit.

Heart quadruple beating, lungs unwilling, tears straining for release…Quinn barreled after Brittany.

She caught up. It made her delirious with happiness. Grabbing Brittany by her shoulders, she turned her best friend to face her. Brittany waited until the wheezing in Quinn's breath subsided before she gently placed a phone into Quinn's outstretched palm.

It was neon pink. Overlapping gold stars were luridly stuck to the back and sides. Quinn had never owned a phone so tastelessly designed.

Brittany pressed a button on the phone and guided it forward until Quinn could view the text.

**Where are your favorite places to eat in LA?**

Quinn flung the phone onto the paved ground beneath her, marveled at how far it skidded away from her. "Brittany, she's…she's fucking with me. I don't wanna play this stupid 'these are a few of my favorite things' game with Rachel anymore. _You _can stop her. Don't let her buy the studio!"

The disappointment on Brittany's face was palpable, intimidating. "Santana told me you'd try to catch up with me. You're only here because you need something from me."

Quinn was scarcely able to hold back her opinion that Santana Lopez was a delusional, know-it-all bitch with a superiority complex. Instead, she asked, "How many times have I been there for you, Brittany? Just…help me handle this problem I'm having with Rachel and we'll be even."

"Friendships aren't about being even."

Quinn could stand a little less philosophical babble and more of a concrete answer from Brittany that she'd renege on Rachel's offer. That she would not allow Rachel to purchase half the studio.

The phone hissed loudly as it skittered and skated across the running track. Quinn watched its progress with a tilt of her head downward. When she faced Brittany again, she noticed that they were suddenly standing in the field behind Breadstix.

"Nice change of scenery," Brittany noted.

Quinn had lost sight of the phone. That was good enough for her. They were no longer on the track. No more running laps. No more neon pink and gold stars.

"I gotta get back to Santana." Brittany sprinted forward.

Quinn debated following her, trying once again to persuade her that no one – absolutely no one – would benefit from Rachel and Quinn being business partners.

Her best friend turned but never broke her pace. She tossed that fucking pink and gold-starred phone at Quinn and gave her a warning, "You really shouldn't ignore Rachel."

Quinn stared at Brittany's retreating form. Brittany in motion. Brittany leaving her behind. Brittany gone. Again.

(Break)

Quinn hadn't upped her pill intake. But that buzzing never left her. Who needed Brittany? She had a new best friend. Her nights were especially kind, embracing Quinn in a womb of tranquility that protected her from the underhanded tactics being carried out by Rachel.

She'd ignored Rachel's "our dance studio is here" text. She knew she was going to have to rage on in her battle against Rachel Berry. But she feared she was out of weapons, strategies, an endpoint that would allow her victory. These doubts angered the buzzing, sending a crescendo of sound pounding and echoing inside of her.

Rachel's second text – Where are your favorite places to eat in LA? – followed the first into her deleted folder. She would ignore until she could regroup. The buzzing reluctantly approved of her actions, favored her with a lullaby that lulled her immediately to sleep when she took her nightly dose of Oxy-Contin.

The next morning, Rachel's third text sent the buzzing into a cacophony of fever-pitched noise that momentarily shook Quinn to stillness.

**Your bed is incredibly comfortable. You also have a very nice and extensive selection of sheets.**

Quinn shook her head back and forth, back and forth. The buzzing demanded immediate action, insisted upon it. Quinn agreed. Oh, she most definitely agreed.

(Break)

Rachel answered the phone with a yawn. "I'm pretty sure I could live in your bed…if I didn't have a business to run all by myself, seeing as how my partner is AWOL."

Quinn screamed into the phone, spit hurling from her mouth. "Get out of my apartment! Right now! Right…fucking…now!"

Rachel's voice was calm, and a touch mocking. "You can't speak to me that way. We own a business together. Please refrain from yelling. Be civil, Quinn."

Quinn could feel herself dangerously close to a panic attack. "I'll sell my half of the studio. As soon as I get back to LA. I…cannot work with you. Never, ever, ever! I _will not_ take this bullshit from you any longer!"

Rachel yawned again. "Excuse me, I'm still a little tired. Anyway, back to the subject at hand, you're not likely to find a buyer in this economic climate. You'd do best to cooperate with me. Now, the first thing I need you to do before you fly back to LA is take my car to my fathers. Then please…"

Quinn interrupted, "You need to leave my apartment. You need to get on a plane. You need to go back the fuck to New York."

Rachel sighed. "You seem to think I need to do a lot of things, Quinn. None of which, sadly, I am able to consider at this time."

"You are such a heartless brat! Are you listening to yourself? Are you? Oh my God, I wish I could record this conversation and play it back so you can hear how you are talking to me!"

Rachel finally let a little emotion work its way into her side of the conversation. "Let me play something back for you, Quinn Fabray! You left me in a hotel room! You stole my car! You forced me to lie to my fathers! Do you_ know_ how hard it was for me to convince them that I let you borrow my car? And that I _meant_ for you to leave me at the hotel so I could sleep off a hang over? I'm finished bargaining with you. My fathers are expecting the car. See that they get it!"

Quinn didn't even recognize her own voice when next she spoke; the buzzing was utterly, doggedly, entirely in control. "You are an annoying, conniving psychopath and I refuse to listen to you!"

Rachel had the gall to laugh at her. "I'm touched by your careful diagnosis of my personality traits. And I'd love to talk more with you, but I have some carpenters coming to the studio and you have to be hitting the road back to Lima."

"Sell me your half," Quinn blurted out. "Okay? Please?"

"I scarcely consider that an adequate alternative to the plans I have for the studio. I've mapped it out. There's plenty of room to offer both dancing and singing lessons. I, of course, will provide the…"

Quinn hung up the phone. The buzzing applauded, urged her to keep up the onslaught. Rachel, Rachel could wait. Quinn would make Rachel Berry come to reason, of this the buzzing was certain. There were other enemies she needed to challenge, of this the buzzing assured her. Quinn dialed a number. Prepared for more conquering.

(Break)

Santana's habit of forgoing pleasantries in favor of leaping straight to the heart of a conversation had never much bothered Quinn. And, really, banal small talk had never been their forte.

"Shame on you, Q. All that time you spent with Rachel in Lima and you never mentioned to her that you and Britt are no longer the best of friends?"

Quinn initiated her attack. "You let Rachel into my apartment and I swear I will have your ass for this, Santana. I always knew you hated me, but you could _at least _remember that I used to mean something to Brittany. There are things I could tell Brittany about you. You know that, right?"

Santana seemed puzzled, amused, not in the least threatened by Quinn. "Rachel is in LA? I was honestly unaware. Trust me. And whatever you _think _you can tell Brittany about me, she probably already knows."

Quinn wasn't buying it. "Rachel sent me a goddamn picture of the studio! She's in my motherfucking apartment! Of…course…she's…in…LA!"

Santana sounded bored. "If she's here, she hasn't dropped in for a chat. We didn't give her your spare key, if that's the reason behind your tantrum. Maybe you left the door unlocked. You've been super spastic lately."

Quinn snarled, "You _cannot_ expect me to believe you! How could she buy the studio if she's not in LA? Explain that one to me, Santana."

Santana answered as if she were speaking to a child. "Um…she has a lawyer. We have a lawyer. And, oh, there's this nifty thing called technology. E-mails, faxes, phones. Surely you must have heard of these great and awesome mediums of communication!"

Quinn ignored Santana's snarky comeback. "Go to my apartment and make her leave!"

"I don't jump at your commands, Quinn, in case you've mistaken me for Brittany."

Quinn slapped her forehand against her head, angering the buzzing immensely. "Jesus, Santana, please! She can't just take over my _entire life_."

Santana lowered her voice, let the venom drip out. "I honestly do not know nor do I care what she is doing with her life or yours. I only answered the phone because I thought this was just gonna be about the studio. Not even going to front, Q, I have been waiting to hear your reaction when you realized the deal was finalized. This shitty drama playing out between you and Rachel is of no interest to me. Or to Brittany. Should either of you try to call me again, I'm…not…picking…up."

Santana ended the call. Quinn crunched down on a pill in retaliation, allowing her teeth to remove that pesky time release coating. She didn't much care for this day. So she pretended it was night. She didn't imagine that the buzzing would begrudge her this one, small illusion.

(Break)

Rachel's texts were always such an unpleasant way to rejoin the realm of reality. Quinn squinted at her phone. Apprehension took hold of her, shook the buzzing into overdrive when Quinn realized Rachel had included a picture with her message.

**The people in LA are so nice. It makes it really hard for me to miss New York. You should be well on your way to Lima. Say hi to my Dads for me.**

Rachel had clearly taken the picture herself. One of her arms was bent forward as if it could crawl through the phone and grab at Quinn. Her other arm was slung casually around…around…Addie! Both girls had wild, faintly cheesy grins plastered on their faces. They looked like grinning idiots.

Quinn blinked, tried to magically erase the picture. The buzzing scoffed at her, ordered her to do…something!

Quinn _had not once _considered Addie. Had Addie not moved out? Fuck! Could she and Rachel be living _together_ in Quinn's apartment?

Do something! Do something! Quinn perched on the edge of the bed. The buzzing ping-ponged inside of Quinn, challenging her. Do something! Do something!

Quinn stood up, made herself move. She gave in to the buzzing. Life was so much easier that way.

(Break)

Rachel's car found a new home in long-term parking at the Cleveland airport.

She was early for her flight. The buzzing allowed her only one drink before she boarded the plane. And none during. She rented a car upon her arrival in LA. Parked it across the street from her apartment. She wanted Rachel to be alone. It needed to be night.

Quinn was exhausted and edgy. Dusk materialized, vanished. Rachel appeared. She crossed the street, chatting animatedly into her phone, never once glancing in Quinn's direction.

Quinn watched lights blaze on inside her apartment. There was no sign of Addie. The ease with which Rachel moved about the place exasperated Quinn and outraged the buzzing. Quinn's knees clanked together and she itched to set her body in motion. The buzzing chided her with the chant of patience, patience, patience.

It was night. But not quite late enough.

The buzzing repeated its mantra: Patience, patience, patience.

(Break)

It was a touch past two a.m. when Quinn unlocked the door to her apartment.

She kicked over the bench in the foyer. Advanced quickly to the kitchen and lifted up the table, hurled it on its side.

Rachel's voice carried out to her from the bedroom. "I have a gun!"

Quinn shouted back, "Oh, is that so?"

Quinn swiped her hand across the kitchen counter, giggled under her breath as expensive appliances and dishes scattered.

Rachel ran out from the bedroom, disbelief having taken up residence on her face. Her tone was equal parts accusatory and uncertain. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Confusion looked oh-so-very sexy on Rachel Berry. Even better still, Rachel was only wearing one of Quinn's oversized t-shirts. Such easy access. The buzzing congratulated Quinn on her good fortune.

Quinn crossed into the living room. She flung a picture off the wall. Pushed over the coffee table. Threw a few books across the room. Broke a lamp.

"Stop! Honest to God, why are you…this is _your_ stuff!"

Quinn let that be her cue. She sat the vase in her hand on the floor instead of smashing it against the upended coffee table.

The expression on Quinn's face changed, completely morphed. She softened from rage to penitence and advanced on Rachel. "This is too much for me to handle, Rachel. Do you understand? _Can_ you?"

Rachel gave her no response. She stared at Quinn, kept her lips pursed tight.

Quinn continued, "We have to stop with these mad attempts to destroy each other. Aren't you tired of it? I'm _exhausted_." Quinn let her voice tremble, break.

Rachel's body relaxed ever so slightly. "You wouldn't know it from your little display just now."

Quinn let her shoulders slump forward, glanced briefly at her feet as if looking at Rachel would only add to the fatigue she'd claimed had overcome her. But, still, she moved the slightest bit closer to Rachel.

Rachel leaned against a wall, stared bewilderingly at Quinn. "Why, _why_ would you trash your own apartment?"

Quinn steadied her voice, readied it for battle. "I'm angry, confused. You… And I want…" She cut her sentences short, left them for Rachel to interpret. Quinn's eyes moved across Rachel's body, mapped it.

Rachel wasn't quite ready to give in, though her dilated pupils were silently betraying her. "You didn't take the car back to Lima, did you?"

Quinn maintained her apologetic tone, "I_ couldn't_ go back to Lima. There's too much shit I messed up in that town. I left the car at the airport in Cleveland. Puck doesn't live far from the city. I'll pay him to take it back to your Dads." She shuffled nearer to Rachel, shrugged her shoulders in apparent defeat. "I'm sorry, I promise they'll get it back."

She was near enough now to feel the exhale of Rachel's breath against her cheek. She waited, bided her time. Rachel reached out, pulled Quinn to her. She smirked at Quinn. Or maybe that was more of a snarl. Quinn kept her face as blank as possible.

A light blush crept across Rachel's face. "Do I look nice in your shirt?"

Quinn grinned, touched the edge of Rachel's shirt. "I'm more interested in what's under it."

Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist. "How interested?"

"I can show you."

Rachel laughed, grasped for Quinn's hand. "What about the mess in here? And why should I be so quick to forgive you?"

The buzzing was dizzy with anticipation. Quinn pulled Rachel to her, sighed against her. "Forgive me now, Rachel, and I'll clean up the mess later."

(Break)

The buzzing sang out to her as Rachel's breathing sharpened. It was time, she'd reached the moment. Quinn moaned her words into Rachel's mouth, "I love you so much that it hurts me, Rachel, it fucking _hurts me_."

Rachel bucked forward, let her head sink to Quinn's shoulder. Rachel's groan was so primal, so wanton – to use her own words against her – that Quinn could feel the vibrations of that sound melt down her own throat. Rachel's body clung to Quinn, hips swaying with the thrust of Quinn's hand.

Rachel clawed at Quinn's back, desperate for leverage. Her feet were almost, almost off the ground.

Lift a little higher, Rachel. Come on, Rachel, float.

Quinn pushed Rachel back against the wall, buried her fingers deeper.

And Rachel lifted. She floated. Quinn held her up. And then guided Rachel back to the ground.

For several minutes she let Rachel rest against her. She ran her fingers down the hem of Rachel's shirt. But the buzzing soon made it apparent that she'd come here for a reason. She was at war.

Disentangling herself from Rachel, Quinn stood up and stretched. Her words were light, playful. "You know, you really shouldn't break into another person's home. You could go to jail for that."

Rachel looked up at Quinn, pupils still blown, mouth agape. The merest outline of a smile formed at the corners of Rachel's lips.

Quinn surveyed the mess in her apartment. "Someone could misinterpret your intentions, Rachel." She tugged her phone out of her pocket, held it in a death grip. She'd keyed in 9-1-1 right before she had ransacked her way inside her own apartment. Quinn unlocked her phone, hit send.

The buzzing amped up, readied itself, practically swooned.

Quinn cocked her head to the side, smiled serenely back at Rachel. "You're _really_ gonna want to put on some pants."


	13. Chapter 13

The tea must have scalded her tongue and practically seared her throat…but the laughter was the worst.

Quinn's hands white-knuckled the table. Her eyes jumped around the coffee shop. But Rachel was not there.

Yet Rachel's laughter still reverberated in Quinn's mind along with a biting, rather sinister thought that she heard in her mind as if Rachel was speaking right into her ear: You probably shouldn't have taken _both_ those pills.

Quinn was helpless not to heed that voice. Her eyes slowly traveled down to the table. And, sure enough, absolutely zero pills stared back at her. She'd taken the two she'd snuck out of the bottle that morning. She'd meant to hold off, save one for later.

Rachel's laughter fluttered through her again. Quinn's face flushed with barely concealed rage.

The only thing that would shut up that Rachel voice in her head would be to assault it with a memory.

She knew it was a short term diversion. And one that wasn't nearly, nearly going to prove good enough.

(Break)

Quinn jumped up and down with excitement. She felt _awesome_. "Do you want me to call your Dads? They must wonder what's happening to their poor baby's life. First, they have to come collect you from a hotel 'cause you were too hung over to drive…and now? Wow! Rachel Berry, making her Dads proud every…single...day."

Rachel was hastily dressing, trying not to trip. "They can't arrest me for breaking and entering. Addie gave me the key! I'm sure she'll vouch for me."

"But they can get you for assault and destruction of property." Quinn pointed around her apartment, almost as if leading a tour through it. "Have a look, Rachel. And when you've finished taking in that scene, snap your beautiful brown eyes back over to me."

Light but noticeable bruises sprouted along Quinn's wrists from where Rachel had grabbed her tightly during sex. "And if they need more evidence than that, there's always those scratch marks you made on my back."

Quinn hurriedly removed her shirt, ripped it along the front and back – she'd cut tiny holes in the shirt earlier in the day for just this occasion – and placed it back over her head. "You're _so_ vicious sometimes when we have sex," Quinn chided.

The knocking on her apartment door caused Rachel to flinch and Quinn to laugh. "Ready for the spotlight, Rachel?"

Rachel said nothing as Quinn walked to the foyer. That was more than fine by Quinn. Silence, after all, was golden.

(Break)

That memory – the one that ended with Rachel being led out of her apartment in handcuffs – had kept the buzzing in awe, enthralled for days.

Quinn took another sip of her tea. She missed the buzzing. Rachel's voice reminded her that things could have gone differently for Quinn, could have turned around in her favor. Quinn wasn't entirely swayed by that sentiment.

But she needed to focus. On Santana. Because as soon as she saw the girl cross the street on her way to class, she'd be able to take off in the direction of Santana and Brittany's apartment.

She would talk to Brittany. She would explain everything to her. Brittany would help her. Brittany would take her side.

(Break)

Quinn had gone back to work after Rachel's arrest. Promptly wrote a check to her assistant that was the equivalent of two extra pay checks. The girl had pretty much kept the dance studio running while Quinn had crisscrossed a two hour stretch of Ohio.

The buzzing obviously enjoyed it when Quinn worked. It was largely quiet, contained. Unless it alerted her to a figure she'd accidentally tallied incorrectly on one of the studio's financial records. Or when it reminded her that it was that time of the day to dig out a pill from her pocket and allow herself that extra bit of relaxation, serenity.

On Quinn's third day back, Rachel showed up at the studio. Quinn wasn't a bit taken aback. It was obvious that someone was going to eventually bail Rachel out. Maybe it had been her fathers. Or possibly Addie. Quinn banked on Santana not having been the one to help Rachel. Quinn was convinced that Santana really wouldn't have answered the phone if Rachel had called her. The buzzing, frustrated with Quinn's musings, explained to her that her line of thinking was completely irrelevant. Who cared who came to Rachel's rescue? What did any of that matter? Rachel was at the studio _now_ and, well, Quinn was willing to allow her to hang around. No sense in forcing her to leave.

And, for its part, the buzzing thought it might be fun to play the business partner game with Rachel. For a while.

(Break)

Rachel stepped inside Quinn's office and (naturally) immediately demanded something from her. "I need you to bring me the cost estimates for the carpentry work. Do you have those ready?"

Quinn never took her eyes away from Rachel as she shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk. "Somewhere around here. Let me find them and I'll bring them to you." Quinn smiled politely at Rachel.

"Thank you, but I'll wait here."

Quinn squinted her eyes at Rachel. Rachel's mouth was set in a grim line, face haggard, eyes haunted. Quinn handed Rachel a bunch of papers. None of them contained the data that Rachel had requested.

Rachel clutched Quinn's arm and said nothing until Quinn looked directly at her. "Drop the charges, Quinn. This could…could cause problems for me."

Quinn pouted at Rachel. "Sorry, but I've already picked out a suit for our court date. I think you'll genuinely like the way it looks on me, it's a very flattering cut. Plus, it just _screams_ power lesbian."

Rachel ran a trembling hand through her hair. "If I go to court, the publicity will most likely damage my career. I understand that this is of very little concern to you, but I'm asking you to reevaluate what you are doing…and have you considered that this might bring bad press to the studio?"

The buzzing jostled her with its laughter. Quinn beamed at Rachel. "It's incredibly nice of you to worry about me when there's so much going on in your life right now. The studio will be fine. It ran well before you got here, and it will probably function even better with you in jail."

She stood up and placed her hand on Rachel's lower back. She guided Rachel to the door. Rachel said nothing else to her as she walked out of the studio.

The buzzing adored it when Rachel kept her mouth shut. And on that one, Quinn was wholeheartedly in accordance.

(Break)

They carried on in that strange, co-existence for the better part of a week. They rarely spoke. Saw each other even less. Used Quinn's assistant as a go-between. Each evening, Quinn would mark another swipe over that day's date on her calendar and smile. Only two more weeks until their adventures in court.

The buzzing was whistling contentedly as Quinn arrived home that evening. She hummed along. The buzzing swelled in pitch, in fervor. Quinn's voice grew louder, too. Yet the song died in her throat and the buzzing lost its rhythm as soon as Quinn's eyes adjusted to the hallway light in her apartment.

Rachel Berry was sitting on her couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, reading a book.

Quinn balked, the buzzing halted. "How in all that is holy did you manage to get in here _again_?"

Rachel sat down her book and stood up. "You left your keys in the office earlier this week. I believe it was on Tuesday. Remember that meeting you had with a potential new instructor? You showed him around the building? Took him to lunch at that cute, quaint restaurant down the block? Well, that gave me plenty of time to have your key duplicated."

Rachel walked toward her. Quinn mimed Rachel's movements. They were coming closer together. Neither girl stepped away from the other.

Rachel pressed her upper body against Quinn. "The only thing you make sure you always keep with you are the pills. I _cannot_ count the number of times I've seen you fumble around in your pockets to see if those bottles are still there. You're becoming quite careless with everything else in your life."

Reflexively, Quinn felt for the pills. Satisfied that they were still in her pocket, Quinn watched as Rachel slowly – almost painfully slowly - undressed. Quinn was momentarily caught off guard. Until…

Quinn's eyes widened. And she was instantly, instantly wet. Her voice barely made it above a whisper. "Are you for real, Rachel? You're wearing a strap-on?"

"You never seem to learn your lesson," Rachel answered. "Perhaps this might persuade you."

Quinn gazed at Rachel as she removed her underwear. It was enough to mesmerize Quinn, to make her even wetter. Quinn positioned herself against the hallway wall and unbuttoned her pants.

A very naked Rachel Berry addressed her. "No more walls for us, Quinn. I want you on the bed."

Rachel cupped Quinn between her legs and guided them across the apartment. "Get naked. Place yourself in the center of the bed. Keep your back to me."

The buzzing was mildly interested in Rachel's directives. As for Quinn, she was downright in love with the idea.

(Break)

The buzzing was altogether silent the moment that Rachel entered Quinn. She lifted forward so that she could wrap her arms around Rachel's neck.

Rachel spoke soothingly into Quinn's ear. "This time, I don't need you to tell me that you love me."

Quinn whimpered at the pace Rachel had set for them. Her breathing was shaky. Her insides burning. "Why not?"

Rachel pulled Quinn closer. Clenched her arms around Quinn's stomach. Moved in and out of Quinn. "Because I already know that you do."

Quinn fell forward onto the bed. Hair clinging to the sweat on her forehead. Hands clutching at the sheets.

And, for one brief moment, she believed Rachel. Because it was the truth. She loved Rachel Berry.

At least until the sex was over.

(Break)

Dawn broke Quinn from her sleep. Rachel's body was pressed firmly against her own, their fingers looped lazily together. Sometime in the night they'd both put clothes back on, battling against a chill in Quinn's bedroom. Still, a fully clothed Rachel Berry was just as sexy as a naked one. She thought about waking Rachel, asking her if maybe Quinn could wear the strap-on this time. But she settled against it.

She wrestled out from under Rachel and headed to the bathroom. Emerging back into the bedroom for clean clothes, she noticed that Rachel was gone. The buzzing picked up speed and Quinn mimicked it by sprinting quickly to the living room. She stopped when she saw Rachel. The buzzing, however, intensified.

"You're running awfully low on these pills of yours." Rachel shook the bottle at her.

Quinn smirked. Oh, is that all Rachel had against her? "Rachel, I can get that shit anywhere. This is LA! I could probably knock on my neighbor's door and get any type of drug I wanted."

Rachel titled her head in Quinn's direction. "Oh…and would your supplier – when you find one – also be able to print up fake labels for you? With your Dad's name on it? Or, like the one before, Santana's?"

The buzzing picked up tempo, pulsed louder.

Rachel continued, "The police might be very interested in knowing this information. You seem to enjoy involving them in our affairs. Plus, I met a very nice officer at the station. He was the one who took my mug shot, just for your personal reference. Told me something didn't settle right with him about your story. He offered to help me out…should I ever need it. He was cute. I think he developed a bit of a crush on me."

The buzzing expanded, bridged outward.

Quinn favored Rachel with her best 'I can top that' look. "I can still get Valium. My doctor prescribes it for me. I'm a nervous flyer. So…that prescription is perfectly legal and aboveboard."

Rachel rattled the pills around in her hand. "Yeah, when I was staying in your apartment, I saw a bottle of those lying around here somewhere. Compared to what you're taking now, though, it's a fairly low dose. And, regardless, I spoke with your doctor this week. Told him that, as a close friend of yours, I was terribly concerned you might be self-medicating."

The buzzing throbbed, crashed against the side of Quinn's skull.

"So…if you tie that in with your penchant for stealing narcotics…" Rachel trailed off. "You'll probably get sent to rehab, eventually, which I imagine would honestly be the best possible scenario for you. But you don't have any interest in that..." Rachel paused, let her eyes catch Quinn's. "Would I be correct in that assumption?"

The buzzing screamed inside her: Yes! Rachel was right! Of course Rachel was right! Rachel had never been wrong! Quinn remained perfectly still, quiet.

Rachel filled in the silence. "I took it upon myself to see a psychiatrist shortly after my publicist bailed me out of jail. The deep emotional trauma I experienced during those days in prison led me to seek help. Not to mention how amped up my stress levels are due to the impending court date. How could I say no to a very high dosage of Xanax when she recommended it to me? And, anyway, I assured her that I would only take them in moderation."

The buzzing shoved Quinn forward. And she finally broke through her verbal paralysis. "I…I'll probably need something much stronger than Xanax…eventually. So…I don't think any agreement between us would…"

Rachel put a finger over Quinn's lips, shut her up. "I'm sure you'll recall that I'm a gifted actress. And I could truly make that work to your advantage."

Rachel stretched, grabbed at her back, and winced. She sat down heavily on the couch and wiped at the sheen of sweat that had formed on her forehead. "I certainly don't think it will take much for me to get a doctor to prescribe me with pain medication for my persistent backaches. I'm not certain I can get Oxy-Contin right away. Most likely it'll be Vicodin…or some derivative. But…"

Rachel grimaced, hissed through her teeth, tears trickled down her face. She wiped at them with an unsteady hand. "Ultimately, they'll simply_ have_ to give me something else for the pain. Something much stronger."

The buzzing was enthralled with Rachel's performance. Quinn held off on her approval.

Instead, she nearly snorted with laughter. "I'm reasonably confident that some doctor or another will want to run tests to see what's causing the problem. When they find out it's nothing…you'll be out of luck."

Rachel grinned triumphantly at Quinn. "Hmmm, naïve, naïve, Ms. Quinn Fabray. I have a compressed disc in my lower back. Nothing that Advil and yoga can't manage. Until now…"

Rachel carefully lowered her body on the couch. Sweat glistened once more on her forehead, her face turned pale, nearly ashy. And, just as suddenly, Rachel sat back up. There were no traces of illness or distress anywhere on her face. She looked as beautiful and healthy as ever Quinn had seen her.

Rachel winked at Quinn. "I'm willing to give you two Xanax right now…so you can see what it'll be like…if you decide to work _with _me instead of fighting _against_ me."

The buzzing was now beyond hysterical with interest in Rachel's proposition. It screeched , roared, pleaded. Cooperating with Rachel wouldn't be so horrible, of this the buzzing was entirely too persuasive. She'd probably make an excellent business partner, of this the buzzing guessed. And a court case _was_ likely to interfere with Quinn's dance studio, of this the buzzing warned her.

With a sigh of acceptance, Quinn gave in to the buzzing. Hadn't she learned that life was so much easier that way?

Rachel gave her the pills. Quinn took them. They sat together on the couch. Rachel watched TV. Quinn drifted. Rachel commented on a character she liked and felt was underrated on the show. Quinn's body tingled.

Rachel looked over at her. "Feeling better?"

But Quinn did not answer. She was back in the dream again.

(Break)

And now she wanted out of it. But that would require assistance. And that would entail Brittany's involvement.

Ten minutes after Santana walked past the coffee house, Quinn hurried outside and moved quickly toward her destination. She used the spare key Brittany had given Quinn shortly after she and Santana had moved into the apartment.

Keys are such a constant in your life these days, the Rachel voice sagely informed her. Quinn ignored it. She stepped inside the apartment and was immediately calmed when she heard Brittany's voice echo out to her from the kitchen.

"Hey, San, did you come back for another kiss? I _love_ it when you do that."

Quinn stepped inside the kitchen. "Brittany, it's me."

Alarmed, Brittany dropped the spoon she'd been holding.

Quinn took a cautious step forward. "I really need to talk to you. You've got to listen to me, okay?"

Brittany moved further into the kitchen, placing the table between herself and Quinn. "Is this…is this about Rachel?"

Quinn nearly laughed from relief. "Yes! You're exactly right! She's _everywhere_, Brittany! She's inside my fucking head!"

Brittany drummed her fingers nervously on the table. "Maybe that's 'cause you think about her a lot. You know? I do that with Santana. When we first started officially, officially dating…"

Quinn waved her arms widely, distressingly. "Wait, wait, no. Just…no, no, no! How can you_ even_ entertain the idea that I'm_ dating_ Rachel?"

Brittany picked up another spoon. Dropped it. Reached for it again. "Uh…because you're living with her? And Addie told us that Rachel said you two were trying to work things out."

Quinn balked, gasped for an appropriate response. "Brittany! Why would I date someone who I pressed charges against? And why in the fuck would she date me? I stole her goddamn car! How is _any_ of that logical?"

Brittany frowned and shuffled her feet in random circles on the floor. "If you aren't dating, why is she living with you? None of this makes sense to me. Santana believes that you and Rachel must've called some kind of ceasefire or you are…uh…fucking your way through your issues, as she put it."

Quinn screamed, "No, we most definitely _have not_ reached a truce!"

She watched as Brittany popped her knuckles. She was upsetting Brittany. Nothing was going to plan. "Quinn, I think you're drunk. You seem like you're pretty buzzed." Brittany kept her hands outstretched as she angled away from Quinn.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm not drunk. Jesus, Brittany, it's barely ten a.m. Give me_ some_ fucking credit."

"You smell like vodka and you look horrible," Brittany bluntly responded. "I'm going to call Rachel."

It was true that she had been drinking the night before. Quite a lot, she suspected. And she'd bolted from her apartment so early that morning that she hadn't bothered to shower or even brush her teeth.

Any evidence that Brittany required was all over Quinn: The disgusting odor of stale vodka clinging to her combined with a disheveled appearance. Quinn opened her mouth to protest, to stop Brittany.

But Rachel's voice spoke up: If you let Brittany call me, you'll get what you need.

Quinn spun around but knew the room would be empty. The only indication of Rachel was the continuing reverberation of sound Rachel's words made as they droned and droned inside Quinn's mind. An acute longing blindsided Quinn, caused her to clinch her fists until half-moon shapes appeared on her palms.

The buzzing had been comforting. _This _voice? It was only menacing. But it was also very, very correct. She'd get her comfort, the detachment that she craved. So long as Brittany told Rachel where to find her.

She heard Brittany dial the phone. Quinn went to lie down in Brittany and Santana's bed. Rachel's voice spoke to her the moment she closed her eyes: I won't even punish you for this infraction. Not this one time. Consider it your free pass.

Quinn nodded in agreement and shut her eyes. She sensed Brittany hovering in the entryway of the bedroom. Quinn listened as Brittany offered her something to drink. Maybe some tea? Was Quinn hungry?

Quinn laughed bitterly. "I need a new life, Brittany. Got one of those on stand-by?"

"No…but Rachel is on her way. She'll figure something out."

Quinn faced away from Brittany. Rachel was on her way. She summoned Rachel's voice to her so that she could find solace in those words.

On the way, Quinn. I'm on the way. On the way.

(Break)

Rachel woke Quinn by tracing her fingers down Quinn's arm.

Quinn blinked up at her. "Where's Brittany?"

"I told her it was okay to leave. She has a job interview. She knows I'll take care of you."

Quinn could only agree. She had no other options. "Right, okay, yeah."

"You probably shouldn't have done this, Quinn," Rachel calmly scolded her.

"Probably not," Quinn listlessly agreed.

Rachel's voice softened. "Do you want what I have in my hand?"

The Rachel voice in her head told her that she did, indeed, want what she knew Rachel was about to offer her.

Quinn nodded, half glumly, half excitedly. Rachel handed her the pill. Quinn was grateful. She swallowed it. She choked, sputtered a little when it briefly clogged in her throat. Rachel patted her on the back. It almost felt like an act of love.

Rachel held out her hand to Quinn once more. "Are you ready to leave now? No more scenes?"

And, actually, Quinn found that she _was_ ready to leave. She let Rachel lift her from the bed. She grabbed for Rachel's hand. The Rachel voice inside of her mind told her that she was doing the right thing, she was being a good girl.

Quinn held firm to Rachel's hand as they left Brittany and Santana's apartment.

Both Rachels were momentarily silent. The one walking beside her smiled at Quinn.

She let that Rachel squeeze their fingers more tightly together.

She let that Rachel lead her back home.

**-The End-**

**AN: This is as far as I can take Quinn and Rachel. It has been very interesting to read your opinions on the characters. Some of you hate Rachel. Others of you despise Quinn. In certain cases, neither girl got any love from you. However you felt about them, thanks to everyone who maintained an interest in this story. **


End file.
